Filter
by Arni
Summary: Some Hameron for those despairing at the lack of nice lobby art in the current season.
1. Door

Authors Note: First House fanfic, mostly just for fun and to challenge my writing style a little. Where this ends, I am unsure, though I aim to build it up to an M rating. It will be a journey we will take together. Constructive criticism much appreciated. Enjoy.

* * *

Everything was a game to him. Sweaty and just a little irritated she pushed through the door at the top of the stairwell, coming face to face with a distinctly House-free rooftop. It made her want to scream, she'd been through all his usual haunts and had nothing to show for it except an empty bag of potato chips, Clinic, a most suspicious Wilson, Wilson's office, and an empty coffee cup by the coffee machine that she had a strange feeling he expected her to fill for him. Resisting the urge to let out her frustration she takes a slow breath, holding it a moment as she corrals her thoughts, before turning and walking face-first into the metal edge of the lazily closing door.

Consciousness was seeping back into her world. First, a dull ache of waking on the gritty roof, followed by the cool sensation of wind rolling and sweeping across her arms. Somebody spoke, but it was a fuzzy indistinct voice. Then there was a hand on her arm, a big worn hand and she smiled. Even with her brain acting as the part-time puppeteer to a particularly unruly puppet, she recognised that hand. Eyes opening, she looked about, her efforts to sit crushed by gravity and vertigo. For now the roof was her friend and lying very still seemed like it would be best.

"House?" Her voice was scratchy, thirsty, she swallowed a little before trying again, "Hou-"

"Cameron."

He watched from the edge, leaning against it with his cane propped up against his good leg. He thoughtfully chewed his sandwich as his eyes roved down her. What she must look like to him, so foolish.

"Do you want to get up?"

"I don't... think I can." Why did she need to clarify herself, she didn't work for him. She felt guilty, even lying injured.

"Well, I'm not sure I can help you. I'll call Wilson." Dropping the crust of his snack from the roof, his hand goes into his pocket and retrieves his phone. He's dialing melodramatically before she calls his bluff.

"No, stop." He lets the phone ring, Wilson's voice complaining electronically for a minute before he hangs up on House.

Gripping his cane, he moves closer, flipping a leg over her stomach and bending at the waist so he's looking down at her from what seems a great height, a monolithic A frame scaffold in a well-worn suit.

"How many heads do I have?" She smiles brilliantly, he almost smiles back, even like this her radiance infects him with something, "Close enough." Reaching down he grasps her offered hand, helping her to sit up. His knee hurts, but he ignores its complaints, kneeling beside her and examining her dark, deep eyes with his miniature keychain flashlight. Mild concussion, he already knew that, but the excuse was good enough should anybody see them. She tips, leaning against his leg, her pupils focusing slightly, exposing rich blue irises, ringed with colour and light. He wants to lean in and kiss her. Instead he runs.

"You're concussed. Can you stand?" A slow nod, before a push and her legs are under her. She helps him up and he gives her his arm, which she dutifully clings to. Walking is not as hard as either of them thought, though on the landing above diagnostics she missteps, stumbling and sandwiching him comfortably between herself and the cold stone. Her eyes catch his before he can look away and she lets herself lean against him for a moment before mumbling insincere apologies.

Cameron sits on the couch, eyes closing, just listening to him moving around his office. The clattering swish of blinds descending and closing, bright light reverting to warm shadow. He leaves, coming back with several paper towels and a cup of water, which he places on the corner of his desk. Pulling his chair close to the edge of the couch, the inside of his knees almost touching the outside of hers he hands her the cup.

"Hold this." She does, feeling a slight pressure against the cup, and then again on her forehead, eyes opening to look at him. His eyes roll.

"Oh relax, it's my job." That earns him a smile which he carefully tucks away for safe-keeping. The wound, barely a scratch, runs vertically from the inside of her right eyebrow towards her hairline. Meticulous fingers clean the slightly dried remnants away, before he pats a line of disinfectant on, covering the entire length with thin adhesive bandage.

Smiling at him again earns another faux-rebuke, along with a painkiller and some water. She takes both, without complaint, trusting. He watches her slip sideways into a comfortable sleep, flicking a blanket over her before stepping out. Appearances must be maintained and if people are going to be talking, he wants to catch them doing it.


	2. Apartment

House walking, Wilson haranguing. Pedeconferencing at its finest.

"Why is she in your office? There are plenty of perfectly good beds."

"They're not in my office. And we cripples aren't good at heavy lifting." Wilson believed him about as much as House believed himself, but knew better than to challenge. He was only bad at things to make a point, he obviously wanted Wilson to know.

"Your shopping probably weighs more than she does."

"That would imply that I do my own shopping. As I recall, that is more your department."

Wilson waved him off as House pushed through the office door to find a petite form was still asleep on his couch. Watching for a moment, the dim light softening her already fine curves. Lifting the blanket away, he nudged her slightly.

"Time to go home."

She curled slightly, groaning, before stretching out, "Too tired..."

"Come on." His hand on her arm again, it was a good day. Letting herself be helped she checked her pockets for her keys, before leaving the office, her head spinning slightly. Wrapping her arm around his and pressing closer to his side made the walk to her car far more enjoyable, even if they did get a few stares. Nobody looked for too long, for fear of some retribution from the tamed lion. Tucking her into the car was easy, even some of her colour was returning and apart from her pushy closeness she seemed like Cameron again. The drive to her apartment was short, he'd made it many times before without her in tow. He hoped she didn't notice how easy it was for him to find, almost made a few wrong turns, but something reined him in.

As soon as she was out of the car she clung to his arm again. It was nice, even when he felt her hand slip into his, fingers lacing. Pausing and glancing down at her until she returned the look, he smiled a little when her grip tightened, sparks of determination pin wheeling through her eyes. She unlocked the door easily, pulling him inside and locking the door behind them.

He had been inside only a handful of times. He wondered what parts of his personality influenced interior design, and how exactly they had been transmitted to her. She'd seen his place too, but surely she hadn't... The bookcase against the wall even looked similar to his. It certainly had a lot of the same books. The ceiling was higher than normal, seeming to highlight her diminutive size by comparison to the room, but the warm, rich walls focused the eye on her presence. He sat on the couch, eyes flicking around a little, disturbingly comfortable in this strange, yet familiar environment. She seemed ok on her feet now. He should start a conversation before he gets kicked out.

"How are you feeling?" He asked as she slipped in from the kitchen with a glass of water. A nod.

"Better. My head hurts though." She sits down on the couch, closer than he expected, reaching out, "Can I have..."

His hand was ahead of hers, plucking a half-empty bottle from his pocket and tapping out two delicious pills. As she reaches he tosses them back, taking the glass from her hand and washing them down.

"Thanks, I feel much better now." He grins childishly, pleased with the little scoffing laugh he generates. Rolling her eyes and mumbling "You ass," she reaches across him, slipping her fingers into his jacket pocket and retrieving the discarded bottle, ignoring his protests of molestation, carefully opening it and taking one. He pulls the glass of water away from her when she tries to secure it, until her hand rests on his damaged thigh, applying pressure as she leans to get her drink. He grits his teeth, gasping softly when the pressure vanishes along with the water.

"Didn't take you for the torturing type. Tortured, perhaps. Ever thought of working at Guantanamo?" She leers at him, watching him rubbing the pain in his thigh as she swallows her stolen candy.

"They don't have anything I want." Eyes lock again, her smirk growing slightly larger.

He waves a finger at her, grinning, "Oh you're good."

She leans towards him again, his fight or flight instinct kicks in and she has an incredibly unfair advantage. Her fingers slip through his hair before he lurches forwards, "But I'm better." Clutching his cane knuckle-whiteningly tight, he marches to the door.

"House? What if I... feel sick?" He doesn't turn, "Call me. Now go to bed. Doctors orders." He clicks the door latch and steps out into the corridor before he caves into their mutual desire. Closing the door behind him, he steps to the side and waits as she looks through the peephole, hoping his indecision might have trapped him on the threshold. He faintly hears her sigh, the lock clicks and he hobbles outside.


	3. Strangers

He nearly hurls the phone through the wall when it awakens him. Memory comes flooding back and he answers, gruff growl tinged with sleep, "Hello."

"It's me. I feel sick." Her voice is slurred, "Have you been drinking?"

She laughs, "I'm not an idiot, House." He smiles down the phone, hanging up on her.

He takes ten minutes to clean up first, she can handle vomiting on her own, if she even felt sick. Could she be manipulating him? Deciding he doesn't care he calls a cab. It's slower than his bike, but doesn't offer an easy escape route, less chance for him to run away.

It takes only a few seconds before she opens the door. She doesn't look bad, she never looks bad, but she could look better. Her already pale skin has the unnatural hue of the ill, but the smile still makes him feel getting out of bed at 3AM was worth it.

"You came."

"You called. So can I come in?" She steps aside and he enters slowly, looking about. Everything is the same.

"Make yourself at home." She disappears, and he hears her retching. The sound hurts and he finds himself drawn to her, bending over cold porcelain in the bathroom. Hair already tied back makes his job easier, a comforting hand rubbing her back as she whimpers. He sits on the edge of the bathtub, feeling her warmth through the wool of her sweater. She doesn't turn to him, stepping to the side and washing her face, rinsing her mouth before facing him.

A sad smile, "Sorry. It wasn't you." He laughs, pulling himself up, "They all say that." Following her back into the living room he has trouble controlling his hands, one straying and resting on her waist, keeping her balanced he lies to himself. They sit and she leans against his side. it takes only a moment before his arm slips behind her and her head rests against his shoulder. He shouldn't be so comfortable with this, but they're hardly strangers. Far from it.

Minutes pass in pleasant silence. Her cheeks have a little of their colour back. Retrieving his pocket flashlight, he flicks it over her eyes, watching her pupils shrink and bloom. She raises an eyebrow.

"Just checking."

"You'd better be careful, people will start to think you care."

"Maybe." The ambiguity escapes neither of them, "You should go to bed."

She mirrors his expression, "Maybe so should you." Her fingers find his, fingernails dragged along his palm before knitting into his hand. As she stands he follows, inciting a smile. Turning lights out as they go she leads him into her bedroom. It is as familiar to him as the rest of her apartment, despite having never seen it before. He sits, taking off his shoes before reclining, his lanky frame fitting the bed easily, eyes coming to rest on her. She returns his gaze, smiling and turning the light out. A small disappointed noise comes from the darkness of the bed, eliciting another laugh. He can hear her clothing falling away, his sight returning, reminding him of the last time he saw her asleep. She slips into bed, looking over him solemnly prostrate and too clothed.

She fidgets with the sleeve of his coat, "Sit up." He does so and she slips it off him, "Now your pants." He stares at her in the darkness. "You're hopeless," she sighs, grabbing at his belt until he struggles out of her reach.

"All right, hold on!" Socks and jeans fall to the floor before he gingerly slips himself down into the cocoon-depths of the bed. She presses closer to him, feeling his muscles twitch as he tries not to tense-up, to retreat. A hand on his stomach, gentle pressure through his t-shirt, then her leg wrapping over his, a smooth thigh pressed comfortingly against his gnarled one. He can't say it, wants to say it, but can't.

"This is what you wanted."

"You. Yes."


	4. Morning

Stirring from sleep, Cameron arches, uncoiling like a whip before wrapping herself around the warm body beside her. He's peaceful, still sleeping on his back. She kisses at his shoulder softly, unsure if she would get another chance. The arm under her wasn't sure either, so it pressed her closer, a brilliant blush spreading through her body. Caught. "Hi."

His hand moves up to insinuate itself into her hair, "Morning. How are you feeling?"

She nods, unsure if this was business as usual, or if he was just accepting the situation, "I feel a lot better. Head is a little sore."

House rolls his eyes, "Addict." He extricates himself from her limbs, snagging the corner of his jacket with a finger and tugging it over. He sits up a little, brandishing his flashlight, flicking it across her eyes and making her wince.

"Do you have to do that?"

"It's medically relevant. Need one?" He shakes his Vicodin, before popping the top and downing two. She smiles, nodding, "Ok," before slipping out of bed and escaping out of the room. He watches her legs as she leaves, hearing water running, shutting his eyes and dozing until he feels her slip back into bed. He lets her take the bottle, removing a pill and swallowing it with some water, which is then offered to him. He takes a sip, passing it back and it is placed aside. He runs his fingers across her back when she moves, her body pressing agonisingly to his and her lips pressing down against his. He tries to gasp and her tongue slips into his mouth, teasing. Her face is cocked to the side, eyes shut, resting on her elbows placed on either side of his head. His arms slide up, pulling her tighter to him as he kisses back.

She breaks the kiss, moving to lie half on-top of him, her face in against his shoulder, fingers rubbing circles through his shirt.

"That wasn't medically relevant."

"It's what I wanted."

"I already guessed that."


	5. Symptoms

Author's Note: I'm really pleased to see lots of people reading and (hopefully) enjoying this tale. This chapter is a bit of a change of pace from the previous ones so I'd love to hear what you think, good or bad.

* * *

When next House's conscious mind came to the fore he was alone. It was a distasteful sensation by comparison. But it had not been a dream, not in his apartment, and most other women he was intimate with had less refined tastes. Heaving himself out of bed, and collecting his clothes, he donned them hastily, perfectly scruffy.

Phone. 9 missed calls. Cuddy, Cuddy, Cuddy, Thirteen, Foreman, Cuddy, Cuddy, Wilson, Cameron. Eyeing the phone suspiciously, he opened his contacts list, a wry smile twitching his lips. Earlier today she had not been in his contacts list. And were he to, in a moment of ill-advised passion, put her on his contacts list, _Allison XO _would not be a suitable nom-de-plume. Selecting the contact, he deleted her. He'd remembered the number for 4 years, relearned it when he threw her phone off his balcony (thought it was Wilson's) and he did not need anything that incriminating logged in the miniature devil-machine.

The apartment was still quiet. Hooking his cane from the end of the bed reminded him of his leg, popping a vicodin before continuing his perambulation through Cameron's heart. She'd made coffee, he would have put money on it, and left a note beside the percolator. _Gone to work. Will see you later. XO._ He liked the sound of that, although there was something… It required more thought, a revelatory moment. What was the point in genius if you couldn't be melodramatic. Coffee was good, as always. Perhaps better even, since this brewery was distinctly upmarket. It was pleasing to see it wasn't one of the newer, highly stylised machines. He hadn't expected something pink, that wasn't like her, but this was spartan in appearance. Almost industrial, like a tree-stump made of hewn aluminium with a gracefully curved handle.

Taking his coffee, he sat to think. It was after one, according to the microwave, but nobody trusts microwave time. He'd never set the time on his phone, and glancing around, the kitchen did not seem the place to find a clock. Stalking around, a bedside alarm clock was discovered. It too read just after one. He now knew, well he already knew, but now he had solid proof that there was something very wrong with her. How would she react to his insults now? Could he insult her? Stacy had handled it, but she gave as good as she got after she realised that was how the game was played. He returned to the comfy chair, drinking his spoon-bender coffee and brooding. This was big. Wilson would go spare. After all, she'd had a head trauma. She'd...

Melodramatic moment. He was gone.

* * *

Marching through Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was never the best part of a day, but when he couldn't find what he was looking for, it was just plain shitty. According to one of her idiot friends in the ER she'd called in sick. Kutner and Taub had looked askance at him, well, Taub had, Kutner just looked dopey. Foreman was off running his trials, proving less than helpful when House called. This was getting altogether too public for his liking, considering he wasn't even sure what this was. At least he'd avoided Wilson and Cuddy. But where else to look… Should he ask the wombat? He wasn't sure what Chase and Cameron's relationship was like these days, but acting suspicious around him may not be advised. Kangaroo's packed quite a punch, and he wasn't sure what wombats did when angered, but it probably wasn't good for him.

Calling her proved futile yet again. It was good to hear her voice though, even if it was just asking him to leave a message after the beep. Who needs to say that nowadays. Everybody knows how voicemail works. Resolving to change his message to something more obnoxious, he sat in his office to think, hands idly grasping for his ball.

"House!" He'd forgotten that Cuddy would be looking for him, but her voice cut straight through the glass wall of his office. He considered hiding under the desk, but it would hurt his leg and she already knew he was there.

"Where's Cameron?" She looked somewhat taken aback.

"What? Where have **you** been all day? Can't you just answer your phone and at least tell me you're too busy to come to work!" Angry Cuddy was always so easy to ignore. He just stared at her cleavage. Focus! Cameron!

"If you answer my question, I will do eight extra hours of clinic duty."

"So you will do eight hours of the hundreds you already owe me? Cameron's probably in ER, doing her job wh-" "She's not. I need to know where she is."

Cuddy caved, "Fine, I'll tell her you're looking for her if I see her. Now do some work." She turned, retreating, "And stop making that face at me!"

He contorted his face even more ridiculously, puffing his cheeks out until she left. Where is she. This could be very bad. His thoughts pushed him into the conference room, heading to the whiteboard, marker in hand.

"Case?" queried Taub. Ignoring him House began scribbling on the board.

"Patient suffered mild trauma to the head. Possible symptoms?"

Both of his fellows shared a glance before observing him suspiciously. Kutner bit.

"Nausea, headaches, drowsiness. Possible concussion. Why are you asking us?"

"What else?"

"Seizures? Coma? Death? You know this House, why are you asking us?" Taub must be in a bad mood, he didn't normally react this poorly to House' crap.

"Because you're idiots. You're missing it. Psychological.

Kutner rolled his eyes, "Personality change, exaggerated emotional response, increased or decreased sexual drive."

House nodded, "I knew there was a reason I hired you, beyond impromptu physical comedy."

"Who are we diagnosing here?" They didn't need to know. He didn't need them thinking he took advantage of her, which is undoubtedly what they would think his paranoid mind murmured poisonously.

"Somebody in the ER, Cameron needed a consult." Lie, lie and lie some more.

Taub snorted derisively, "She needed you to tell her the symptoms of head trauma. Fine House, don't tell us."

He didn't care, muttering "Take the day off," as he pushed through the doors into his office, removing the glass barrier that had been momentarily separating him from somebody he hadn't seen in a long time.


	6. Death

Author's Note: Ok, I think I have tortured you all enough. Long chapter, because it didn't feel natural to break to down, definite M rating. More to come.

* * *

Casual was cool on her. Comfortable slim sneakers, tight blue jeans, a faded green t-shirt and thin, long-sleeved summer jacket. She was stunning, well, she was always stunning, but right now it was far more distracting than usual. Brunette again. It made her look distinguished, like a doctor, not one of the mindless butchers down in the ER. Memory hinted that her natural hair was a little lighter, but it was all about the statement. It made it very, very difficult not to reach out and take her, but that would be a mistake. This was all a mistake. He berates his team when he's the stupidest one of them. Medically, he might save lives, but never his own. Melancholy must be leaking through his mask, given her expression.

"What? You don't like it?"

A sad smile, "I like it. But we need to talk." Her shoulders slumped, confidence lost, paradise lost.

"Come on." He walks out and she follows, trusting to the last. The hallways slip past as he leads her towards the stairs, towards the roof and the door. She bites her lip slightly, trying to hold it together. It had been going so well! He liked her, last night... surely he felt something. The uncertainty was killing her, but she almost hoped it would never end. Uncertainty was better than rejection.

Her fingers brushed the concrete of the stairwell, ascending. He pushes the door open, and she knows her blood is on the edge, black and brown like human rust. She closes the door behind her, leaning back against it. He stands looking out at the sky, a strong breeze fingering through his hair, disturbing every strand. It's too hard, she can't take this anymore.

"What? What have I done now!" Now the anger comes to the fore, tired of the agonising depression.

He turns, "You changed. Yesterday morning you were in bed with the wombat. You hit your head and now things are supposed to be different?"

She feels tears, welling, pooling, vision blurring. Why did he have to bring reality into her fantasy.

"What you're feeling isn't real. It's just a symptom."

The tears began to fall, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

It hurt, a bitter reminder of why he said no the first time round. It always ended up like this, and it hurt too much. But this is cruelty, torture, his honest tendencies twisting the blade in his side.

Stepping towards her he reached out, but she drew away, glaring at him through tear-stained eyes

"Fuck you House! Stop trying to psychoanalyse your way out of this. You know this isn't some overnight thing. If you didn't want whatever this is, you should have left me in the clinic yesterday. You made this personal, not me. You had every opportunity in the world to run away, but I'm not going to let you do it now."

He couldn't look at her, well, not her face. His eyes fixed on the tips of her sneakers. Stupid, like always, thinking too much, overthinking too much. Hurting people, hurting himself. His fingers retrieved his vicodin mindlessly, unscrewing the cap when she lunged forward, grabbing it off him, one hand clinging to his.

"Stop hiding! You're so much better than this, better than you think you are. Stop punishing yourself." Fingers against his chest, palm flat over his heart, "You haven't done anything wrong." Her eyes pleaded, he couldn't meet her gaze. She was as stubborn almost as stubborn as him now. Pushing his vicodin into his pocket, she departs without another word.

Time to think. He pops a vicodin, easing himself to the ground and resting against an air conditioning vent. The light dims as afternoon turns to evening, blue to a rich purple haze. Would the Chinese takeaway guy deliver up here? Wilson would. He'd have to see her sooner or later, hiding didn't tend to work so well in the long term with determined women. Cuddy, Stacy, all the lunatics from the clinic. Now Cameron. Allison? That sounded strange. What would she like to be called... Mental note: Ask.

His pocket rumbled. _I'm home if you want to talk. Please come. XO._ What would Wilson do? He'd marry her, then sleep around. Dumb question. What would Wilson do if he was House. A pill for the road, through the door, down stairs, hallway, Wilson's office, through the door, witty repartee.

"No patients. All dead or just gone home?"

"Good evening House and might I say how tasteless you are tonight." Wilson frowned tiredly at him, "What do you want?"

"Have you seen Cameron?" He sat.

Wilson peered at House. Of course he had, if she stood a chance of avoiding complete public humiliation he'd have to work overtime, so he appreciated her slightly-teary, if not very vocal, visit. Why did they both have to be so damn stubborn.

"Yes, she said hi before she went home."

"What else did she say?"

Snicker, "Well, she said you were an insecure ass, but I assumed she was talking about another Greg House."

"You're not being very helpful."

"What do you want me to say? She came in, said you'd come and talk to me and for me to tell you that she was going home! And why am I your answering machine all of a sudden? Don't you two have phones? Why didn't she just call you and tell you herself? Or a note?"

He glared at Wilson, making for the door, "Forget it, I'll go talk to her."

"Buy her some flowers and say you're sorry, House. Don't mess this up."

His head rotated to stare, failing to hide his astonishment for a moment before the armour slid into place. "Great pep talk coach."

Exasperated, Wilson sighed, turned his attention back to his work. House left. Wilson's pen stopped as he glanced up at the closed door, before murmuring secretly, "Good luck." Silence, then the quiet scratching of his ink-laden nib filled the room. But he was thinking.

* * *

She didn't want to get her hopes up. It always made it so much harder when he crushed her then, but this time, like every other before, it was just so easy to imagine him saying yes, choosing life. She pushed the magazine that she'd been ignoring back onto the coffee table, flopping back and closing her eyes. She'd hidden all her classical music away for tonight, in the hope that if the conversation did turn to music it might at least be something that she would recognise. Besides, if he hadn't heard of the Kaiser Chiefs, it'd be a good excuse for him to stay. Knowing his musical prowess though, he'd probably know everything about them. Stop being negative, he won't judge you based on one band. She grinned a little, it was something he almost certainly would do actually. But she didn't want to seem like she had just been sitting here, waiting for him. Shaking her head a little, toes grip the carpet as she pirouettes effortlessly into the kitchen for an aspirin. The concussion was gone, but her head still hurt. In the mirror-finish of her kettle, the imprint of the door was barely visible. She didn't like to be vain, but it looked a little silly. A finger rubbed over the thin strip of rough skin. The cut had been superficial, enough to bleed, but healing rapidly.

Smiling a little to herself, kettle filled and on the boil, she hummed along to the song, watching as the little silver kettle sprayed began spraying steam ineffectually. Cup of tea in hand, the aspirin a dancing cloud of white fizz, she retreats to the living room, folding up on the couch and trying to relax. It works for a moment, until a knock on her door pulls her from her thoughts. Her tea is relegated to cool forgotten on the coffee table. She doesn't need to look to see who it is, but she pauses for a moment, smiling, then lets him in.

Teenage boys going to the prom feel less self-conscious. Knocking, he wished he hadn't thrown away the roses he got her. She'd have liked those better. Trying to push from his mind all thoughts of his stupidity, idiocy, blinding cluelessness.

Of course, when she opened the door he forgot what he was going to say. Her eyes had a habit of doing that to him, so he ended up inspecting her toes for a moment before glancing upwards, not quite at her, past and through at the same time. This was daft.

Focusing, he let his gaze fall to her face, offering her the cellophane-ensconced daisies. She smiles more.

"You didn't have to."

Shaking his head, "Yes I did. I was stupid. And rude." He can't say he's sorry. It's an acquired skill he's never really got the hang of. And lying to her would seem a bad start to... He can't really say that either.

"Besides, I wanted to. You deserve... it." He stopped himself before he could say 'better'.

She melts him with a radiant glow, reaching out and pulling him past the threshold, leaning up against him and pressing her lips to his in a tight kiss. Her fingers clamp down against his jacket, flowers pressed to his back as his arms envelop her.

After a long, luxurious moment she pulls back, eyes aglow, "I should put these in some water."

He nods, hands sliding down the back of her shirt, soaking in the comforting texture and the feel of warm skin underneath, until they are lingering on her hips. She watches him curiously then whisks away into the kitchen, returning with a delicate vase, placing it in the centre of the dining room table. Hushing the stereo, she flops back down on the couch, resuming her observation of his still, silent form.

He pushes the door shut with the tip of his cane, listening to it lock reassuringly into place.

"I'm glad you're here," she says, eliciting a little smile.

"So am I." Stepping over to her, he sits down. His arm circles her, drawing her back to him.

Resting against his shoulder, she enquires, "Have a good talk with Wilson?"

A nod, "Of course, you know Wilson won't keep his mouth shut, don't you."

A smile, "He won't? I only wanted to make sure you got the message." A face of pious innocence does nothing to conceal her devilry.

House rolls his eyes, "Well, if everybody thinks we're sleeping together, we may as well not miss out on all the fun stuff." He waxes lecherous, winking at her.

A furious blush, "House! You're terrible!" Smacking his chest, she presses a kiss to his abused flesh, pulling her feet up and under her, leaning in against him further, "Terrible man."

"Yes, it is plainly obvious how much I revolt you." She laughs, fidgeting a moment before picking herself out from under his arm and flicking a leg over his, settling tenderly down against him.

"What are you doing?" He looks at her quizzically, earning a laboriously slow kiss, as Cameron (his Cameron) melded against him, close as clothing would allow. Stubble against her face, making her smile more because she knows it's his, even as it tickles. The smell of her overwhelming him, so clean, not sweet but earthy, wholesome, good. Big hands on her sides, welcoming, asking but not demanding. She chose life, years of frustration venting in one delightfully carnal embrace, and suddenly he was kissing her back, god, he was kissing her. She had to open her eyes, just a little, just to make sure it was really him. It was. She broke the kiss with a moaning sigh, head lolling down over his shoulder. He was... getting to her.

He moved slowly, hands squeezing distractingly, until his mouth found her highly attractive jugular, beginning the painstaking process of mapping her specific and highly personal desire lines. The cringing gasp, shiver and clench of her body around him was worth it, "House..."

Not just a god of diagnostics it seems, his lips on her throat were making her situation oh-so-much worse. She still stretched her head aside, offering herself to him and being richly rewarded in return. Fingers crushed the top of the couches cushions as he worked seemingly randomly at her neck, squeezing him tight between her thighs, the good spots encouraging him with her hips crushing into his lap. If he'd known this five years ago, god he wished he'd known this five years ago. Pausing for a moment in his data collection for future empirical study, he blew gently against her neck. Her moan was the most tortured sound he had ever heard, all her frustration crushed tightly into a tiny noise barely louder than a whisper.

She could feel him grinning against her neck, "Is something wrong, Dr Cameron?"

Her response was more snarl than speech, her mouth tilted up to the edge of his ear, hips grinding down against him, her hot, violent voice burning his ear "House, shut up and don't stop."

Her fingers gripped his hair, the pain almost too good for him to handle as he returned to appreciating every curve of her neck. Hands slid onto her back, onto her jeans, squeezing her butt as she forcibly ground herself down his hardness. She was thin and he could feel every movement, the shiver as his hands touched her ass was spectacular. His tongue darted out, teasing across her exquisitely formed throat, leaving a slick trail of wet skin behind him, before pressing close and biting, feeling his teeth sink into her flesh, not enough to break the skin (not on the first date!) but given her immediate reaction to gasp and spasm hard in his lap, it was the only possible choice.

Her voice strangled, eyes slamming shut, all her instincts telling her to scream in climactic ecstasy as she shook in his arms, silently swearing allegiance to forever worship at the Altar of House. She felt so dirty, so easy to pleasure, and then he bit her again and she choked, unable to breath, her wildly flexing muscles leaving nothing to his imagination as she came hard in his lap. Gasping a quick breath she moaned pitifully as he bit her again, pleasure coating every atom of her being, another wracked breath just so she could whisper in his ear in the smallest voice he'd ever heard.

"Fuck, House. Stop, fuck, stop." She knew he was grinning at this new absolute power, and she would have almost felt bad for empowering him, were it not for the orgasm tearing her apart.

Prying a hand from her ass, he pulled her head back by her domination-convenient ponytail , kissing her with every speck of need coursing through his veins. Purring into the kiss he felt the almighty cataclysm destroying her abate, fingers and hands rubbing over her back, his rag-doll doctor slumping against him her sweaty skin pressed against his.

She was dead. This was being dead. She just happened to be dead on top of House, that's all. Eighth fucking wonder of the world and she was dead in his lap. He'd made her come, cuss and almost collapse comatose, and neither of them was naked.

She was most definitely dead.


	7. Control

Author's Note: More M rated words within. More notes at the end.

* * *

House let her breathe heavily in his ear, soothing, calming, while trying to wilfully meditate away his own need for release. No need to rush things, given how insanely pleased she seemed with him, with herself and with life in general, given the goofy smile on her face. He pushed his fingers carefully down into his pocket, extracting his vicodin and swallowing one, hoping she didn't notice. His leg would be paying for their fun soon, but she didn't seem likely to let go of him any time soon. Letting his fingers wander around the back of her neck earned him a gentle pat on the chest and a murmur of enjoyment. Grinning, he pushed her up until he could almost get a proper look at her, but she immediately buried herself back against his neck, whining softly.

"You weren't so shy a few minutes ago." Her only response was to slap at him, "If you keep doing that I will be forced to conclude that you did not have a good time."

She giggled, almost purring against him, kissing his neck and biting him sweetly, "Shush, let me enjoy you." Limp, happy, almost asleep against his shoulder. He teased her as much as he dared until his leg demanded that he stand. A very reluctant Cameron slithered off him, stretching out on the couch, a thin strip of tummy exposed to his insistent gaze.

Leg feeling better for being on his feet he stooped, nudging her shirt up with a finger, exposing a belly button. She just smiled up at him, arching her back, exposing a little more stomach.

"Are you trying to be a very slow and lazy stripper?" This earned another roll of her eyes, but they were smiling, not in the slightest bit phased by him anymore. Well, to a limit.

She coiled up, sitting, then easing onto her feet to stand beside him. Steel blue eyes watched her entangle him with her slender arms, hugging tight. His hand rests on her hip, head ducking to kiss her hair. Her smile grew, so close to his heart she can feel it. Pulling back, she leads him into the bedroom, his cane making barely a noise on her thick carpet, watching as she falls onto the bed, curling up.

"Tired?"

A smile and a little nod, "Your fault." He grins, hooking his cane on the foot of the bed and seating himself, stretching his leg out, hand going for a vicodin. Eyes follow his movements, taking in every element of his whole. The light, abandoned to glow luminescent in the living room, filters across his lanky form. She moves to press up against his side, arm over his chest. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, her warmth soothing the ache of his leg better than the drugs could.

* * *

Cameron awoke easily, yawning. Pushing herself up to look over House' chest, her alarm flashed early morning, too early. Creeping into the bathroom she looked at herself in the mirror and her reflection glowed back at her. It was a good feeling. Wringing cool water from a flannel and wiping her face, clean and fresh, that was good too, but without him she is floating in space. Intergalactic space, the silent void between the galaxies. Her form spread over millions of billions of miles, dead except as a backdrop to the dance of the galaxies. Until the gravity of his pull became too strong, dragging her in, faster and faster until she exploded into life, a glorious sphere of radiant plasma illuminating the darkness for him, her dark companion. The unexplained phenomenon that has shaped her all this time, yet despite her efforts still remains arcane, unknown.

Shaking her head, she pats her face dry, padding into the living room to turn out the light. Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, she returns, his outline a ghost amongst shadows on the bed. She slips her clothes off, dropping them carelessly, until she stands before him in only her underwear. Her fingers precisely unhook her bra (he's probably an expert), dropping it into her laundry hamper. Another smile as she realises how disappointed she is that he didn't get to take it off her. There'll be plenty of time for that though. Pulling a baggy old t-shirt over her head, her fingers ease her hair tie out, releasing her hair to cascade down around her shoulders. She smooths her fingers through her hair, loving the sensation of freedom after having it tied back so long. Smiling, she crawls in under the sheets, easing as close to him as she can get.

His bass voice fills the room, "If you'd turned the lights on the show would have been much better. I would have tipped."

She freaks, choking back a wide-eyed cry of surprise at the last second, "House!" Her voice drops to a lighting-appropriate whisper, "Don't scare me like that."

Easing onto his side, he looks at her in the blackness, "Don't scare you? I wake up and my hot water bottle is gone! Now my leg hurts."

She can't help but smile, inching forwards, her mind switching off as she kisses him, a tender memory that is flash frozen in their memories. The kiss breaks naturally, both of them so close to each other, yet divided.

"Want to join me?" An innocent question, but he already knows how innocent she is. He sits, she listens and watches his immutable form stripped. He ungracefully drags himself in against her, settling his leg. Her fingers seek him out, finding bare skin, daring herself to trail a finger down his side, eventually coming to rest on the waistband of his boxers shorts. He's not that daring she notes, almost surprised that he doesn't sleep naked. Meanwhile, she's touching him, moving back up over his stomach and onto his chest, his muscles flexing as if her touch was a live wire. She likes everything she feels, everything that's him.

"Fun?" His voice seems so loud in the darkness, but it's just his normal speaking voice. Robert would always whisper, as though he was afraid of the dark, and she'd forgotten how odd it was. She needed to talk to him. It wouldn't be a surprise to him that they were over. It'd happened so many times, either because of something he'd done or something she hadn't but that his mind insisted she had. It seemed strange that House had, so far, been easier to deal with than Robert Chase. Probably because she knew what to expect of House. He was surprising her more than she cared to admit though.

"Dare I ask what you're thinking?" She'd never answered him, lost in thought.

"Sorry, yes, fun, and I don't know if you want to know what I'm thinking."

"Yes, you can tie me up, but no, I won't wear the mask."

"What?"

"You weren't thinking about bondage? Never was a good telepath."

She giggled, rolling over and squeezing back against him, feeling his legs bend until he blankets her back with his body. His right arm hooked up under the pillow, left over her side, holding her close as though he were afraid she would escape.

"I was thinking about how to tell Robert."

Silence, she knew he didn't really want to think about Chase, especially not her and Chase.

His hand found hers, big wrapping small, "You'll think of something."

She nodded, sensing his insecurity, pulling his hand up to rest comfortably beneath her breasts. A kiss on her neck elicited a low purr, in turn making him smile.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

"How sensitive your neck is. Always been like that?"

Arching, she pressed her ass back against his crotch, pulling her shirt up a little so her tight lace panties rub against him, "Mmmh, no, never like earlier anyway. Before tonight it was just nice foreplay."

Closing his eyes he thought of innocent things, or tried to. She was distracting him a lot. Giving up he kisses the curve of her neck earning him a happy sound, her fingers creeping around the waistband of his boxers.

She turns her head, he can hear her grinning, "Want me to take these off." Not waiting for an answer, she slips her other hand from his and, still facing the wall on the other side of the room, starts pushing and pulling his boxers down. Teasing him, her fingertips press and touch at all the exposed skin, though she shies away from truly touching him.

Her control over him scares him as much as it excites him. Feeling his cock slip free he starts kissing her neck again, his hands moving to pull her shirt up, though he cannot remove it. Letting his hand run up her stomach, it slips under her shirt, touching her breasts. She gasps moving a little self-consciously, always having felt that they were too small. Her hand wraps around his shaft, squeezing him, distraction, but he just kisses the bumps of her spine, fingers teasing over her left nipple.

The war has begun. Her hand begins stroking him, just a tiny movement, but the sensation is agonising for him. His fingers pinch her nipple, the tiny nub hardening to his touch. She releases him, his arms pushed aside, rolling over and pushing his boxers down further, kisses trailing down his chest until she can lick at him. He moans, almost succumbing to her will, roughly pulling her back up the bed and lifting her shirt from her, pushing the sheets back from her, faint in the light, but recognisably beautiful.

She pushed her only advantage, his disadvantage. Sliding on-top of him she pushes him down, knowing he won't be able to buck her off. His hands move up to cup her breasts, and she abuses of his eagerness, leaning down, hair haphazardly sliding and tumbling over him, kissing the scruff on his chin, up his jaw, tongue darting out to lick his ear, tracing the auricle.

She stretches down against him, grinding herself against him slowly, feeling his hardness against her, denied only by the thin lace cover of her panties. Flipping her hair away from him, she nuzzles his ear.

"Do you want to fuck me, House?" He suppresses a groan, needing to maintain the upper-hand. He pulls his hands from her body, thinking, her nipples now pressed into his chest, her body distracting him masterfully.

"I can feel how much you need me," her voice teases, moaning low as she pushes down against him, "how much you want to be in me..." She kisses his cheek, "Just say you want me," easing back onto her knees, her arms pinning him down as she slides forwards, settling her heat down along his length, hips rolling, front-to-back, feeling his need with every movement.

She needs more, something more, her hands leaving his shoulders, spreading her knees wider so more of her weight is rubbing across his aching cock. She cups her breasts, pinching at her nipples in the dim twilight and moaning at the mixture of pain and glorious pleasure.

Opportunity, his hand stretches out, victoriously slamming the switch on the lamp beside the bed, light surging across her. Eyes shutting, she gasps, dark slits showing as she tries to force her eyes to adjust faster. He's looking at her, but she can only keep the upper hand by letting him. Shaking her head, her hair falls forwards, framing her like a portrait on velvet. Arching, she presses herself down more, his eyes sliding from her breasts down to her delicate underwear, sandwiched needlessly between them.

She steadies herself with a hand on his chest, "Just say you want me and you can do more than look..." Her fingers slide down his chest to their union, slipping out of view as she sits back slightly, letting him see her teasing herself.

He springs, rolling hard, ignoring the pain in his leg as his hand grabs her arm, pulling her towards him as he rolls them both. She gasps, eyes flashing wide, dark, animalistic. He's on top of her, holding himself just above her. Her hands go to push him up, but she can't. He won.

One of his hands reaches down, fingers pushing her last shred of clothing downwards, his eyes spotlights on hers, "Get rid of them." She obeys instantly, his voice leaving no room for question, sliding them down further until she can get a toe into the waistband, kicking them off. Breathing hard, she licks her lips, teeth catching her bottom lip, biting nervously. He moves slowly, lowering himself closer to her, mimicking her movements as he presses close to her ear.

"Did you have fun, teasing me?" She nods, fear and arousal blowing out her pupils again, "Say it."

"I had fun teasing you."

He grins, almost leering at her, "Do you want me to tease you?"

She shakes her head vigorously, knowing already his next question, "Please don't tease me."

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

She bites her lip again, eyes pleading with him, "House..."

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

Her cheeks flush bright, mouth opening slightly, her voice almost whispering, "Please fuck me..."

His hips roll, instantly pressing himself in against her, arms wrapping around him as she pulls her legs up, her hips mirroring his movement, letting him in. She barely stays quiet, biting her lip hard as he thrusts into her hard. When he stills she gasps for air, letting out another stifled moan.

Eyes shut, he has to concentrate. Their foreplay left her needing him badly and he wants to satisfy her before himself. He pulls back, letting her legs dictate his speed, as they are now encasing him, holding him to her. Pressing his face into her mass of hair he murmurs, "Better?" She just pulls him closer, moaning as he sinks deeper.

He begins moving more forcefully, opening his eyes to watch her arch and thrash beneath him, working to give her what she asked for. Feeling his hips slamming hard against hers, he groans, needing release soon, sooner than he would like. One of her hands pulls him down, kissing him hard, crying out against his mouth.

"Ohhh, House!" His eyes wide, he felt her starting, unable to control himself any further, bucking hard against her, his thrusts spasmodic and violent, her neediness drawing his seed deep into her core. Her face contorts in an expression of unbearable pain, but her moaning tells only of pleasure and want.

Her legs, arms cling tightly, holding him, feeling him satisfied in her. She kisses at him, shuddering and squeezing him purposefully. Not all of her medical textbooks were boring, and some were wonderfully instructive in how to make the most of a situation. She lets her hips roll under him, a renewed moan driving him into her again, unable to stop herself from arching against him and crying out. Falling back against the pillow, she rubs her fingers across his back and neck, kissing him until he rolls off her with a grimace.

His leg. She pushes through the afterglow, sliding across him carefully and retrieving his vicodin, handing them to him, watching him down two. Lying at his side, she slides herself half across him, carefully not to press on his damaged thigh. He smiles, reaching down and pulling her leg up across his scar, hiding it from view before cocking his head to kiss her.

Pulling away, he sighs heavily, "Got a cigarette?" She rolls her eyes, swatting at him and purring happily into his ear, "Nope, but I could get us a drink?"

He shakes his head a fraction, "Not yet. You're needed here."

She smiles. He means it.

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you had fun! As I was building the scene up, I was trying to work out which character would logically be the dominant force in bed. It was really tricky, as Cameron's character of late has been much more forceful than in the past, and this adaption of the existing story pushes that even further. But House would never take anything lying down (awful pun, ho ho). I think it worked, but feedback on how true to form you found these chapters would be much appreciated.


	8. Bears

Author's Note: Ok, sanity has returned to me. Please go about your business as normal.

* * *

Stalking the ER has become a hobby. Cameron has been hiding from him ("I'm trying to work and you're very distracting. House, stop it, I'm being serious! Ohhh...") but that just makes it more fun. He takes a vicodin, grimacing as he downs the bitter pill. Winners cheat. He pages her, gingerly lifting his foot onto the corner of the desk to soothe his leg, one eye on the clock. Eight minutes, twenty three seconds and the door opens.

"Case?"

"Close. Chase?"

Her eyebrow goes way up, "You paged me about Chase? I said I'd talk to him today."

"Consider this morale support. Besides, his messages are so tedious."

"What messages? Have you been listening to my answering machine."

He shrugs, twirling his cane between his fingers, "I was bored."

She sighs with faux-frustration, but her eyes are laughing, "You're such a child. I'll talk to him today."

Glancing in at the new ducklings, she walks closer, turning her back to them, "And if you're an especially good boy, mommy will give you a treat."

He pulls a face, "Is that meant to be arousing? Mommy?"

She laughs, "I'll see you later."

"Talk to Chase." She beams as she goes, leaving him with the still unusual feeling that the grim meathook future might not be quite so grim.

Clambering onto his feet he hobbles through into the conference room.

Taub's eyes flick up from a file, "Do we have a case?"

"You tell me."

Snorting derisively he focuses on his file, "Surprise, surprise."

The pile of mail on Cameron's old desk is mounting. House refuses to open it, and none of the others want to be stuck as the secretary. He'll get around to forcing Kutner to do it when it stops being a fun excuse to avoid work.

Pulling his name-tag from his pocket, House slide it across the table towards Chase Mark 2, "Clinic. Go."

"I'll do it." All eyes gravitated to Thirteen as she leans over to take her new name. House was the first to respond, "Why?"

"You always send Kutner."

"True. But today I chose Kutner because you have an appointment with Foreman." She broke eye contact, guiltily dropping the name-tag. Something is going on. How best to discover the truth. Ask: Boring and pointless, she can't even look him in the eye, let alone tell the truth. Foreman had been conspicuously absent recently. Maybe he didn't have to ask after all.

Staring at Thirteen intently, House spoke, "Taub, how's your wife?"

"She's fine and none of your concern. Why?"

"You are me as well, spare name-tag in my drawer. 2 hours of clinic each and you're both free."

Kutner and Taub beat a hasty retreat, antelope running from a lion. Somebody has to get eaten. House' gaze is melting a hole through Thirteen and it is much safer to be at a distance from such events. For somebody with nothing to do, she was managing to keep herself very busy. He let her stew for a few minutes.

"So... Are you two dating or just sleeping together?" She choked on her third tic-tac in as many minutes, pupils dilating wildly before she caught herself.

"No. What makes you-" He cuts her off, "Right. Very convincing."

Adopting his stare, she smiles at him minatorially, "How's Cameron." Not a question.

He doesn't blink, "Bored."

Thirteen nods, "Sure."

She has nice eyes. Very nice. Cameron does too though, and what he's thinking about would not sit well with her. He wouldn't sit well after she kicked his ass either.

He breaks the silence, "So, how long?"

"Since the party."

"You weren't at the party."

"Neither were you."

"Wilson was," more pointedly, "But you weren't at the party."

Her smile changes, sly, making it even harder for him to concentrate, "I know."

Pausing for a moment before letting the idea come to him, "Oh you were having sex! I understand now." Mutually-assured destruction really does something crazy to his libido.

They watch each other. Now they share something. He won't be the one to ask.

She will, "Are you going to say anything?"

Needing to see her reaction, he nods, "Sure, why not. If they ask if you and Foreman are sleeping together, I'll tell them."

Cold eyes stare back at him, not as nice as once they were, "Ok, I'll tell them about you and Cameron."

Nodding, "That's fair enough. I wonder how long it'd take before they work out I was lying. Well, mustn't dawdle. Dying people need doctors."

"House." He glanced back at her, halfway to his office, "Thirteen."

"This better not be another game."

His eyes narrow, reading her for the smallest tell of a bluff. The threat feels real. He nodded, rocking stiffly from the room, she is left wondering if he just agreed to keep their secret.

* * *

Cameron lingered at a table in the cafeteria, waiting for Chase. Just like old times. She didn't hate everything about him, just everything that made him not House. His smile, his goofy sense of humour, his warmth (around other people at least, House was plenty warm enough in private). His fragile ego, childish tantrums and inconceivable jealousy on the other hand. That all applied to House too but somehow it suited him. A crotchety old cripple, it seemed appropriate for him to have a laundry list of flaws. Of course, House was smart too. He'd already finished three of her fiendishly difficult medical crosswords when she'd abandoned them to the various flat surfaces of her apartment, all of them less than half complete.

It was the little things like that she found most adorable. He threw the crosswords in the trash after he'd done them and was annoyed that she'd noticed. At first he denied all knowledge, then admitted he'd thrown them away. She wasn't angry, just puzzled as to why he'd done them in the first place. But he refused to say.

Lost in thought, she missed the wombats approach.

"Cameron?"

She glanced up, "Hmm? Sorry."

Sliding his tray onto the table opposite her, he pulled up a chair, "Where were you?"

"Just thinking. How are you?"

His shrug neatly sums up his attitude to their relationship, from start to finish. That's not charitable, and she wishes she could admit it to herself without feeling guilty. But she does feel guilty and the only thing offsetting that guilt is his lack of.

"So how are you? You weren't in the ER on Friday."

"I'm fine. I... walked into a door and took some time off." He raises an eyebrow, corners of his lips twitching. Rolling her eyes, "Yes, you can laugh at me."

That does make him laugh, eyes tracing down the line on her forehead, "Are you ok? Why didn't you call me?"

Now it's her turn to shrug, though she knows the reason, crunch time, "When I woke up, House was there, so he..."

Chase's face hardened, "So he what?"

"He made sure I was ok."

He scoffed, "What, he insulted you and dumped you in the clinic?"

Looking away, she nods a little, "Something like that."

"You're breaking up with me aren't you. For good."

She nods, "You're a great guy, Robert," but it's already too late, his chair pushing back, "I understand, it's fine."

Sighing she looks after him as he walks away. Was it ever more important to him than this? Cradling her face in both hands, trying to stop the tears, what a waste of time.

"Chase not hungry?" She looked up, rubbing her eyes quickly and shaking her head at Foreman, "Uh, no, I don't think so."

"You guys have a fight?"

She smiles a little, Foreman the big brother, "We broke up. Permanently."

"Are you ok?"

She nods, "It was my idea."

"You won't mind if I steal his food then." This earns Foreman a laugh as she watches him transfer the untouched contents of Chase's tray to his own.

"Does this have something to do with House?"

"Yeah."

Cocking his head and grinning at her, "Yeah? Wanna expound on that, or should I make my own assumptions?"

She can't help but return the grin, "Oh god, leave it alone."

He laughs, "Well, good on you I guess. Of course, I think you're crazy, but you already knew that."

"You're as bad as House."

"So I'm told."

* * *

She was home at 7, having gone to the gym and worked away some of her frustrations. She considered food, deciding against it, choosing to spend the evening in front of the television, a lazy arrangement. He rang during a show on honey bears.

"Oh hey. Are you coming over?"

"I can... Do you want me to come over?"

"Did you just hang up on me?"

He'd hung up. After asking her to spend the night at his place. It wasn't that weird, she just thought he'd be more defensive of his space. This is moving forwards, she thought, turning off the bears and gathering a change of clothes and her toothbrush.

* * *

His scotch lay abandoned, two sets of lip marks on the glass. He'd offered her one of her own, but she just took his instead. Letting her get away with it was probably the most fun he'd had all day. Settling against his side, an arm slipping around her, they both smiled. Contented silence reigned.


	9. Kinks

Author's Note: Please note! If you have not read Chapter 8, Bear, please go back and read it now. If you have read it, then I hope you enjoy the continuation of the story.

* * *

His bed is amazing. When she bought her bed, all the information said the firmer mattress was better. Better spinal support ergo better sleep. But this feels ten times better and that's before taking into account House's slumbering form at her side. Stirring, she squirms around. He looks almost regal, the slumbering king in a faded Floyd t-shirt. Rich speckled stubble flecks his chin, attracting her fingers to it as certainly as gravity affects the spheres careening through the firmament. Dozing is easy this close to him.

* * *

Why did he bother getting her here, getting her naked and getting her in bed if she was just going to run away at some obscene hour in the morning.

"Cameron! If you're not here I'm going to kill you." Her side of the bed is cool, but not cold. He can hear her, but doesn't look.

"Be quiet, House. I was making coffee." A clonk on his bedside table, the sound of breakfast. She slips into bed, kissing his side as he pulls her close.

"For a misanthrope you're very clingy."

"I hate people in general. Key word, general."

She slides a hand affectionately up under his shirt, fingernails teasing over his chest, "Is that a roundabout way of saying you like me?"

He opens an eye, peering at her, "Do you want me to smother you with a pillow?"

"Autoerotic asphyxiation. Kinky. A choke collar would be better though."

Wow. She knows how to pitch a good curve ball, "You want me to treat you like a dog?"

Creeping up his side, kissing his neck, "You don't wanna fuck me doggy style anymore?"

"You have a dirty mind." His eyes follow her as she straddles him, "And you need to stop stealing my shirts."

She pouts at him, sitting up in his lap and teasing the shirt up a few inches at a time before letting it slip off. Unabashed ogling commences. Leaning down she kisses him, tongue teasing at his. He is in heaven.

"So why am I not allowed your shirts all of a sudden?"

He blinks stupidly, "What?"

Arching her back, fingers grasping the duvet and pulling it up as she slinks down on top of him.

"If you want me to keep going, answer my question."

Choose truth, "They're too long. Can't see your ass."

She purrs, "Sweet." Her fingers slide downwards, rubbing him through his boxers, pushing them down and taking his cock in hand.

Eyes close, her smile growing as she watches and feels her effect on him. Wiggling back she eases onto him, biting her lip, taking a minute to tease. He just sighs softly, hands pawing at her ass.

Sitting up onto him she whines, just the sensation of him inside her almost too good to bear. Fingers claw at his chest, fisting his shirt. She likes being on top and he likes the view, they both like the way they fit together.

He's impatient, rolling his hips hard, her small frame bouncing in his lap, eliciting a moan. She takes the hint, lazily riding him, "That better?"

His eyes shut, "Yeah... Perfect." Fingers squeeze her ass, unable to stop himself from arching up into her, wanting more than she is giving him. Leaning down, teasing, kissing him and shaking her hair down, the world disappearing behind a veil of hair. She kisses him again and he opens his eyes, looking up at the only person who matters. The only person left in the world. She flexes around him, moving faster, wanting, needing. He shudders as he thrusts uncomfortably, leg cramping his style in a painful, stabbing fashion.

The tension is too much, they both need release. He snaps, hands pushing her down and kissing her hard, working down her chin until he can bite her neck, her sex contracting, leaving them gasping. She holds him tightly, kissing and feeling her body clenching and relaxing, their bodies alive in a climactic frenzy of love.

He needs coffee. Barely warm now, still good. She steals a sip, passing it back to him and melting against him.

Kissing his neck, she purrs, "Best way to wake up in the morning?"

"Do you have a twin?"

Snort, "You wish."

"Duh." He flicks the duvet up over her, lifting his head to kiss her hair, "So are we going to do anything this weekend, or should I ask Wilson to prescribe me some Viagra?"

She snickers at him, "Oh poor you! Besides, I don't see why you'd start having problems now. Am I wearing you out, old man?"

He smiles serenely at her, hand sliding up her back, teasing her hair back into a loose ponytail.

Looking up at him, she sees something, "House?" His hand is a fist in her hair, wrapping it around up in his hand, pulling her up, gasping and struggling over onto her back.

Leaning in close, he looks down at her, "What did you call me?"

"I called you old."

"Bad answer. Should've lied and hoped I didn't hear you the first time." His hand slides up her thigh, fingers slipping into her sex, still hot, teasing.

Arching, she cries out, still sensitive from their prior activities.

He pauses, staring at her, a mixture of fear and arousal blurring across her face, "Shut up and stop struggling."

Moving again, his fingers slide up, circling her clitoris slowly and smiling as she arches, whimpering.

"I thought I told you to be quiet." Her eyes snap to his, lips pressed shut tight.

Licking his lips he resumes her punishment. She is almost deathly silent, though she can't stop moving. He pushes her harder, his leg screaming for vicodin as he keeps himself upright.

Around and round his fingers go, "Do you like this?" Her eyes are shut now, nodding jerkily, tossing her head back and choking back her cries. He smirks, releasing her hair and pulling her in to kiss him, feeling her gasp and cry out into a hard kiss. Fingers shift, moving tenderly, then trailing up onto her stomach.

The kiss slowly dies. He watches her, eyes shut, breath ragged, his name on her lips. She rolls against him, arms slipping around his torso and clinging to him.

"You're a bastard."

"You love it."

She kisses his chest, "You know I do. I love everything about you."

He smiles, stroking her hair, "I know." Hand gropes for his pills, finding them and popping two back.

Flopping onto his back, she writhes, insistent on being as close as possible.

"You never answered me before." A hum is his only response.

Nudging her, he repeats the question, "Going out? You. Me."

"Promise to do that to me again?"

Curt nod.

"I'll do whatever you want."

"I know."

"Bastard."

* * *

Author's Note: Hope you had fun! In case you missed it at the start, Chapter 8, Bear, is now up, if you didn't see it, please go back and read. Reviews are my vicodin (god, I just know somebody else has already used that gag and now I feel disgustingly unoriginal).


	10. Truths

"What did you do to my kitchen?" Eyeing the restocked fridge and steak marinating in a tray, House's suspicion, and hunger, grows.

"You had no food, I just got a few things when I was out."

"Milk, bread and butter, those are 'a few things'. Garlic and thyme are not."

Raising her eyebrows, she pokes him in the chest, "Do you want me to cook you dinner?"

"You can cook? Could you be any more perfect."

She smiles, "Nice try, but not good enough."

He cocks his head at her, "Then what is good enough?"

Stepping forwards, she tilts her head back, looking up at him, "Kiss me."

"Ok." Hand in her hair, pulling her close, lingering for a moment before letting their lips meet.

Smiles, both of them enjoying the togetherness, tongues intertwined for just long enough to satiate her need. His forehead presses down against hers, eyes shut.

Nodding a little, "Better. " She shivers in his arms, "Why is it so cold?"

"I believe it's called winter. Happens every year about this time."

"Ha ha. It wasn't this bad a few weeks ago."

House shrugs, "Life's a bitch and now my leg hurts."

She pats his side, "I'll get your vicodin."

"Good girl."

Her voice floats from the bedroom, "Call me that again and I'll break you."

He shouts back, "Of course, that does nothing to dissuade me."

She moseys in wearing a giant-sized Johns Hopkins sweater and his pills, offering him one, which he takes graciously. Eyes track him as he takes a sip of water and tosses the pill back.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You have proven most proficient at question-asking so far."

Ignoring him, "Why did you say no?"

"Since when have I said no to you. You go to party town whenever you feel the need."

"I mean when I first said I liked you."

"You want to know why I said no four years ago?"

"All the times."

"Do you have a list? That'd make things a lot easier for me."

"House, you liked me then. You still said no. "

He turns away from her, "Why do you want to know? You think I have some ulterior motive for this?"

Frowning, "Of course not. I just... want to know." She reaches out to touch his arm, but he shies, limping into the lounge and grabbing his jacket.

"I'll be back in an hour." The door shuts behind him, the sound of his cane thumping the steps outside as he walks. Looking out the lounge window, she frowns, already worried, his bike wet, the road wet, the clouds so low even the air is wet. A degree colder and there would be snow on the ground. The bike rumbles, roaring as he accelerates down the street.

Driving soothes his mind, but not his leg. He's low. Wilson will give him what he needs, and the advice he doesn't want to think he needs.

* * *

"How would I know what you should say? I don't know why you said no in the first place." Wilson's eyes rolled, "I would have begged."

"God you're pathetic."

"And you aren't? She asks a reasonable question and you come running to me."

"Hello, I needed vicodin. She still thinks I take too much."

Wilson scoffs, "You have a drawer full of vicodin. The only reason you needed more is because you didn't want to go home. I'm still amazed you left her alone. She's probably erasing all your episodes of The L Word."

"Wilson." House's eyes were heavy, stuck to the ground, sighing heavily, "I don't have a good reason."

"Just tell her that. Tell her you were an idiot, she'll like that."

"Oh god, why do I bother."

"House, just tell her the truth. And tell her how you feel now."

House sceptical, Wilson honest. House nods, stepping out.

* * *

Feeling him approach before she hears the bike, she is waiting on the steps, looking through the misty snow. Glancing at her he smiles, she looks ridiculous. His oversized slippers look like yeti snowshoes on her feet. Combined with sweatpants and his varsity sweatshirt she looks more like his daughter than his... Something. Girlfriend sounded strange, made him feel strange.

"House, hurry up, it's freezing." He does as she asks, swinging his leg over the bike, pulling his helmet off, avoiding her eyes, holding his cane defensively as he hobbles inside. She follows, closing the door.

He shrugs his jacket, pouring himself a scotch, downing it and pouring another.

Her eyes follow him, moving closer, "House, talk to me."

Curt nod, "Ok. I said no for a lot of reasons." She moves closer, sitting, taking his left hand in hers as he sits uncomfortably.

When the silence is unbearable, he continues, "I thought... It would have been cruel. You didn't need to deal with my crap."

She frowns, but her eyes well with sorrow, "Don't you think I could have decided that for myself?"

No answer, "I didn't know how to handle it. You're sickeningly sweet, practically my polar opposite. I..." he drinks, "You just wanted to fix me. Then you'd lose interest." Her fingers curl against his.

"Do you still think that?"

He shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe. All I can do is hope that you don't." His eyes flick to hers, then away, fear in his eyes, "I'm in too deep now. I... care too much." They both know what he almost said. It might as well be etched in his stony brow.

His agitation is stirred by the pain in his leg. She gives him another vicodin, he mumbles his thanks even as she pulls him close, cradling him in her arms. His hair is scruffy below her nose, tickly as she kisses him, arms wrapped around him, squeezing, wanting him to know.

"I love you," she feels him stiffen, leaning in to kiss his cheek, "You know that right."

His nod is minute.

"Then stop worrying." Lips, soft against his stubble. Turning his head, he kisses her back, unable to vocalise, crushed by her overt emotion.

They sit comfortably, watching the snow whip and whirl, the world awash in the foam of a lost ocean. Night falls on their December.

* * *

Author's Note: It took about 2 hours to get from "I love you" to here. It's so frustrating, given how kind Calliope, Thalia and Erato have been recently, to all of a sudden be left floundering for a path, let alone the words to walk it with. That aside, thank you all for the kind reviews. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story. Updates may get lax over the Christmas period as I will be travelling and spending time with family, but I will try and find time to write something, though that something may not be a part of this specific world. Peace and love.


	11. Love

The hospital was eerie at Christmas. Visiting, working, sick and dying people, all trying to find a little holiday cheer amongst the reality of the human condition. Cameron always felt for the sick and the dying. House despised them all.

The ER was overflowing with fender benders and a baffling array of injured children. This was the first time she'd been looking forward to Christmas in years. Too many years. She'd volunteered to work last year. Sitting at home, drinking wine and reading, might as well be any other day. This year, she was looking forward to the time off. They had three whole days. Cuddy had been only too happy to get rid of House for the holidays. Kicking the Grinch out of the hospital would bring relief to everybody else who had to work. Besides which, Cameron had kept the ER running with barely a hiccup for over a year, so she deserved it, even if he didn't.

This made the final few minutes up to six especially agonising. She decided to hide in her office, paperwork keeping her busy. The clock was against her, each chart taking ten minutes to check off, then five, then two, time paused as she worked. 5:52PM. She gave up, dialling his pager, hanging up before the automated message could start to play.

"Is it true? Can we finally get out of this festive hell-hole?" She looks up, then smiles at him, his eyes peering around the edge of her door.

"Have you been sitting outside waiting? You could have probably convinced me to go earlier."

"Perhaps. But then I would have lost my bet with Wilson."

Rolling her eyes, she glides over to him, flicking the lights off and kissing him before stepping out into the hallway. Checking the door, she slips her hand into his as they walk.

That was the best thing about the gossip getting around so quickly. It was never going to stay a secret for long, nor did either of them want it to be, but it still felt refreshing not to have to hide. Foreman and Wilson insisted on teasing her, despite House's threats, but everybody else left them alone.

She was humming, finger tips rubbing the back of his hand. He nudged her, prompting a vacant stare.

"Are we spending Christmas in the car park?"

"Sorry, I was day dreaming." Locks pop and they slip into the plush interior of her sedan.

"Do you need anything from your place?"

"Do you want me wearing the same clothes for three days?"

Grinning teeth at him, she licks her lips, "Who said I want you wearing clothes?"

* * *

"Looks nice." The decorations are tasteful, subdued and unexpected. She must have done them last night. Hanging up his coat, he heads into the lounge, turning up the thermostat and slipping down onto the couch. Doing no work is exhausting.

"Whisky?" He nods, watching her half-fill a tumbler, taking a sip herself before passing it to him. It's strong, single-grain scotch, old too.

"Do you like it?"

Another nod, eyes shut, "Perfect." He feels her sit, arm noosing her close.

"Good." She takes another sip, comfortable silence covering them like a blanket. The pleasing sensation that words are extraneous to what is already being said. The warmth of the whisky and her against his side is enough to put him to sleep. Draining the glass, the finish rich burning in his mouth, he turns, looking at her sleepy form.

"Want to eat?" She shakes her head against him.

"No, too tired."

"See, this is why you should come back and work for me."

"If I came back to work for you, I'd open the mail. Then you would be very busy."

"You're right. What was I thinking. Besides, you're adorable when you're tired."

Her eyes open into thin slits, peering suspiciously at him.

"Don't look at me like that or I'll never compliment you again." She smiles, patting his chest and pushing herself to her feet.

"Come on. Bed."

He stands, leaning lightly on his cane and taking a vicodin before following her. Undressing quickly, they tumble into bed, his nose in her still fragrant hair.

* * *

The sheets were cool, she had been absent at least 30 minutes. He found that frustrating, possibly the most frustrating thing about her, outside of the hospital. He quietened his breathing, listening, silence echoed through the apartment.

Clambering out of bed, he confirmed his suspicion. She had left him alone. A note taped to the coffee machine said she had errands to run. He frowned at the note, blaming it entirely for her absence, squeezing the life out of it with his fingers and tossing it aside.

* * *

It was nearly midday when she returned, giving him plenty of time to shower and snoop around her apartment. The door was barely shut behind her before he was on her, one arm around the waist of her thick coat, the other in her hair, lips pressing together violently. She almost collapses under his onslaught.

"Did you miss me?" Her skin is cool and pale, but her smile is warm enough for both of them. He nods.

"Good. Now, if you'll just let go of me." Slipping from his embrace she extracts herself from boots and coat, opening one of the bags and offering up to him a sandwich, hoping to placate his inner animal.

"Apology accepted." He snatches his lunch away from her, hobbling through into the lounge and flopping down on the couch to eat.

Talking to herself loudly, she follows him, "Thank you Allison, however did you know that I would be hungry, having only just got out of bed a few minutes ago."

"Hey, I showered! I'm clean!"

She rolls her eyes at him, "I'm so proud." Stealing a bite of his sandwich, she starts in on her salad which he eyes with disapproval. His hands move quickly, taking it from her, pushing his sandwich in her direction.

"Hey, I was eating that!" Her frown is the mirror of his.

"Next time just buy two sandwiches." She scowls a little, holding the overweight congregation of beef, cheese, tomato, lettuce and whatever else they put in these things to make them taste so stupidly good. His needling about her weight was always irritating, she didn't purposely not eat, it just happened. At the same time, it made her smile, all jokes and selfishness aside, it was proof, solid evidence, of how much he cared. And the sandwich was very good, much better than the salad which he was torturing mercilessly with its plastic fork.

His interest in the rabbit food waned, depositing it on the coffee table and hugging her to him. She smiled, leaning against him, remnants of sandwich discarded.

"So," she looked up at him as he spoke, "What did you get me for Christmas?"

"I'm not telling you! It's a surprise."

He pouts, "Meanie."

"You're such a child."

"You're such a padeophile." She gasps, elbowing him in the gut.

"Help! I'm being abused!" Her hand clamps over his mouth, body turning and pressing all her weight onto him.

"Shut up House! Somebody will hear you!" She freezes, feeling his hand on her butt, "What do you think you're doing?"

His eyes look pityingly at her as his fingers slide down the back of her jeans, "I know surgeons who would be only too happy to cut that hand off you." Eyes sparkle back at her, pushing and daring her. He kisses the palm of her hand, pulling her sideways into his lap. Arms slip around his neck as they kiss. All is forgiven.

"I thought you liked my fingers?"

She smiles, patting at him, "Shush." When he moves to snark back at her, she kisses, "I said shush." He makes a face at her, pushing her off his lap as he fetches a drink.

"Is Wilson coming for Christmas dinner?" She follows him into the kitchen.

"He didn't say."

"You should ask."

He nods, smiling a little as she slips her arms under his, squeezing him in a tight hug.

* * *

"Do you want me to come?" Wilson's voice sounded sceptical.

"Sure, why not. I probably owe you a meal."

"And Allison doesn't mind?"

House rubbed his eyes, "Since she told me to call you, yes, it's probably ok with her."

Wilson's smile was audible, "Ok. Should I bring something?"

"I believe gold, frankincense and myrrh are traditional."

"She's pregnant already? You move fast."

"Oh you're good. You should do stand-up. See you tomorrow." House hung up quickly. He was losing his edge. You should do stand-up? Weak. The phone rang in his hand.

"Cameron, phone." He held it up in the air, watching her running in from the kitchen to frown at him.

"You could answer it yourself you know. Give it here!" Jumping, she manages to snatch it from his hand, answering quickly.

"Hello," she rolled her eyes up at House, "Hello Wilson, yes, he's right here. Oh, of course he didn't tell you the address that would be far too helpful."

* * *

"You have done all your shopping, right?"

He nods.

"So we don't have to go out tonight? Because if we do, we should go now."

"Buying a gift for Wilson is terribly hard. But I did manage to find him something."

She eyes him, "Just Wilson."

His stare is level, "Who else would I be buying for."

The corners of her lips turn up just slightly, "You're such a bastard."

Nodding, he pulls her close, "And you love me."

She nods, "And I love you."

Fingers peel up her shirt, "Good. Because I have rather a fondness for you as well." She wants to hit him every single time he avoids saying it. The feeling burns through her blood, radiating from her eyes. She shoves him backwards, a gasp of pain as he falls onto the bed, eyes wide.

Falling upon him, she crawls up, kissing him hard, "Say you love me."

Subtle sneer, "If I don't say it, does it make it less true?"

Sitting astride him, grinding slowly, "I want to hear you say it. Don't make me force you." He watches her bra unhook slowly, thin material falling away from her, her hips driving him mad.

"Say it." Her purr is audible as his hardness grows.

"No."

She slides both hands down her body, fingers teasing open her jeans and pushing the zipper down as far as it will go, exposing black panties.

"Just say it House."

He shakes his head obstinately, watching her slip off him, jeans falling, followed by her underwear. Her fingers roughly strip him, nails running down the underside of his cock teasingly. Arching, he groans softly, watching her move ontop of him. Hands on her hips, feeling her skin pressing.

"Cameron." His voice pleads and she crawls down on top of him, kissing and whimpering as he hilts himself deep within her. Lips on his neck, her fingers laced into his hair, sharp breaths ripping past his ear as she rubs against him. Inconsequential sounds of lust pass between them, her kisses soft and teasing, his rough and needy. His fingers dig into her hips as she moves atop him.

"Say it." She begins to chant in his ear, hips rolling and grinding against him, feeling him losing control, biting the lobe of his ear and purring as his back arches.

"Come in me, House." Her voice is too much, he's lost, swimming, clinging to her as she drains the need from his body, leaving them both panting, satiated.

Smiling down at him she slips away, tucking herself into bed. Forcing himself up, he moves after her, spooning against her back and kissing an exposed shoulder.

"I love you."

She nods a little, pulling his arms around her, "I love you too."

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks to everybody who has read and/or reviewed this tale. Enjoy the holidays!


	12. Unity

An internal alarm clock clangs warning bells. Awake, still, not even opening her eyes, just enjoying the warmth, the closeness. Time to take a chance. Lashes quake as she peeks through them. The digital blaze on the bedside cabinet tells her to stay in bed. It's early and she feels young, childish, wanting to run to Mom and Dad's room, jump on the bed, open presents. She smiles, remembering Christmas as it was, Christmas Past. Last year, these thoughts would have filled her with sorrow. Now she relishes them. He is her family.

Slipping around in his arms she kisses his chest, cuddling into warmth. A broad hand slides down her spine, pressing her close.

His voice, muffled with sleep, lurches out of the darkness, "What time is it?"

"Early."

Melodramatic groan, he kisses her forehead, "Do you always wake up this early on Christmas?"

She nods, "I can't help it. Go back to sleep."

"Nope." Sitting up, his hand grabs for his vicodin, popping two. She watches him, her stretching fingers touching his thigh, rubbing, his head flopping back against the wall behind him, "Thanks."

Festive silence mutes all sound. The world slows as she soothes his aching leg, his fingers smoothing down her hair, pain fading into oblivion. Muscles relax beneath her fingers, her smile growing as she kneels, kissing his neck.

"I'll make coffee." His nod is imperceptibly small, fingers brushing over her legs, letting her steal his shirt.

* * *

She nudges his side, "House." Blinking, he wakes, taking the offered coffee and pulling her close. Hot coffee, rich and bitter, it brings him to his senses. His tongue burns but he pushes on, draining it before the initial buzz passes.

Eyes observe her, his shirt baggy dangling from her shoulders, nipples creating two peaks in the cotton. Her legs are hidden beneath the duvet, a cruel hand moving to run up between them. The inhale is sharp, trying to twitch her legs away but unable. She shuffles back away from teasing fingers, running out of room as her ass hits the wall.

"Oh god…" He's touching her perfectly, teasing higher and higher until his fingers find her sex, applying gentle pressure. She bites her lip, arching as the unseen hand controls her better than any puppeteer, the heat spreading rapidly through her, stabbing down her thighs, radiating through her tummy. He pushes between her lips, damping his fingers as they slide upwards to her clit.

Fingering at the thick duvet, she turns her face away from him, this act too intimate for her to bear with him studying her. He responds by pushing her gently, a finger sliding up and down over the bundle of nerves that dominates her thoughts. A solitary whimper escapes her, tears filling eyes, too much sensation. His other hand touches her arm and she grabs it, gripping it tightly, making him smile.

"Cameron, look at me." She shakes her head, eyes shut tight, wet trails running down her cheeks. He pushes a little harder against her clit, her cry strangled hard.

"Cameron, relax. You don't have to be in control of everything."

She glances over at him, so focused, clinical eyes gleaming as he pushes her over the edge, both hands gripping his arm, shuddering against him. Fingers back off, teasing gently as she comes down, his kiss welcomed. When his hand slips from between her thighs she slips down into the bed, pulling him down with her.

"House…" He smiles a little, her voice exhausted, almost hoarse. Moving to lie down, she wraps herself around his side immediately, kissing at his shoulder.

He shatters the afterglow, "So what did you get me for Christmas?" He laughs at her groan of exasperation, condescendingly patting her, freezing a little when he feels her fingers slide down inside his boxers.

"House, do you like fucking me?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"Yes."

Better for all involved if he shuts up. She trails her fingers across him until she has him painfully hard, pulling her hand back and leaving him in torment.

"Has anybody told you that you are cruel and unusual?"

She smiles, kissing him, "No, but thank you, I'll take it as a compliment."

* * *

The snow billowed and puffed past the windows of her apartment as House watched, fascinated. Snowflakes, perfect fractal universes, a potent metaphor for the human condition, perfect but ever-decaying as time inexorably flows on. Tapping the window two flakes float fatly away, caught by the wind and blurred out of existence. She strikes from behind, hugging him, skin fresh and hair wet from the shower.

"Whatcha looking at?"

He turns, eyes losing interest in the universe at large, preferring to focus on her complexities, pale skin, nose red, dark hair leaving her a striking portrait of modern beauty.

She smiles at him, "What?" growing more attractive than ever.

Shaking his head, "Nothing important," he kisses her slowly, noses pressed together, bodies close. She snuggles against him, leeching warmth.

"I got you something."

Grin ecstatic, "Finally! Gimme!"

She laughs, "Say please!"

He pouts at her, waving his cane, "Please don't make me beat you."

"Oh, that sounds like fun. Maybe after dinner though. Wilson will ask questions if I'm all bruised." Her wink leaves him feeling like he needs to take a jog in the snow. This isn't helped as she waves her fingers in front of him, sliding them down her contours, eeking into the waistband of her jeans and extracting a flat, gaily wrapped but very small, gift. He squints at it.

"Ever heard the saying 'it's not the size, it's what you do with it?'" She licks her lips, leaning up to plant a kiss on his, "Merry Christmas Greg."

That causes his pupils to flare, his first name, she hadn't called him that since… before all this started anyway. He accepts the gift with aplomb.

"Actually, I've decided to become a druid. Winter solstice and all. Good excuse for a holiday and lax dress code." Fingers work at the gift, shredding rapidly, exposing a key.

He laughs, "You have got to be kidding me."

Her expression hurts, "What? I thought…" But he is already gone, leaving her perplexed. Returning with a book-shaped parcel he presses it into her hands.

"House, could you just tell me-" "No, shut up and open it."

The frown becomes a scowl. He really can be an ass. Stripping away the brown wrapping paper, she was confronted by a thin, well-used book entitled _Ethics: Key Concepts in Philosophy_. Finding this wanting, her eyes jumped back to him, earning a sigh.

"Open it."

Flipping the cover open exposes the contents page and buried carefully into the upper right hand corner margin, a key. Ruffling the pages dislodges it slightly, until she can slip a fingernail in under it, leaving a perfectly key-shaped hole in fifteen pages. It's not even a copy, it's his key, a patina established only through frequent use easily distinguishing it from her shiny clone he holds in his hand.

"House, this is your key."

He shrugs sheepishly, "You can have it."

She searches his face, for some clue, subtext, "But how will you get in?"

"You won't let me in?"

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

His eyes jump to hers. Shit, he didn't think of that. That's bad. That's bad? Is that bad? No, that's not bad. Why would that be bad, you idiot! You love her, just say yes before she figures it out!

"Yes."

"Are you serious?"

He shrugs again, "Don't know why you'd want to, but sure."

"House…" Frowning and smiling, emotions mixing together in a jumble. She's so small against him, holding him tight, kissing, loving.

Tears cascade down her face, a grin breaking out until she buries it in his shirt, out of sight. He strokes her hair, this might just work.

"I'll take that as a yes?"

She sniffs, laughing as she nods, "Yes!"

* * *

Wilson was happy for them, though surprisingly unsurprised by the news.

"You're afraid she'll try and escape when she realizes what a bastard you are. It's a primal thing."

House eyed him over the roast chicken that was squatting corpulent in the middle of the table, violently stabbing a cold ham that desperately wished it was somewhere else.

"Are you going to psychoanalyse all my decisions?"

"Just getting facts straight before I try talk Allison out of this madness. Don't blame me for trying to save an innocent soul."

"Cameron! Why did we invite the jew? He's ruining the Christmas spirit." House screeches at the kitchen.

The faint response of "You boys play nice," was lost on all involved as Cameron entered with roast potatoes and vegetables in a large bowl.

Wilson eyed the laden table, "Thanks for inviting me Allison, this looks great."

Ignoring House's face she beamed back, "Glad to have you here. Now let's eat."

It was a fascinating experience for Wilson. House was opening up to somebody. So many opportunities for quips and insults passed without even a twitch, his friend smiling, laughing with somebody new. Stacy had always been somewhat closed off about their relationship, cautious, as though any interference from outside forces would disrupt the fragile creation. Allison was the opposite, happy to let people see, proud of House, not wanting to push him to be something different but content to let him be. Not to say she wasn't rubbing off on him, his generally improved humour was evidence of that.

It was good to see them happy. God knows they deserved it. Though he was worried, things were so easy, free, could they simply be riding in the eye of the storm. Watching him laugh at something she said, Wilson could only hope that that storm was not one they would have to weather.

* * *

Author's Note: This took longer to finish up than it should have, a victim of holidays. See you all again soon.


	13. Paradigm

Author's Note: Beware, thar be smut.

* * *

They were taking things slow. Her bed slammed against the wall, pounding out a staccato beat, Morse code for 'fuck me'. She had so much accumulated clutter it would be such a pain moving everything all at once. Her hips curl upwards, mewling as his angle of penetration becomes sublime. Begin small, move just a few clothes and toiletries, enough so they can both go to work from his place without anyone being any the wiser. His perspiration, fruit of hard toil, dripped upon her face, oh god, without vicodin he had staying power. Maybe even take a bit of her furniture, if his wouldn't suffice, though she wasn't sure how he'd react to that. Her fingernails score burning trails of liquid fire down his back, eyes closed as she succumbs to his brutal ministrations. Did he even plan on asking her to move in with him, or did she pressure him into it? Whispered words, her legs wrapped around him, he didn't hold out for long, coming hard against her. They'd have to talk about it more, so she could ask, but what answer was the right one for her? He tasted salty as her lips and tongue teased his neck. Would he be happy living with her? Sliding off her, he clings, embracing her with all the love in the world.

"House?"

A subvocal murmur shivers through her spine, it feels far too good.

"Do you want me to move in with you?"

He nods, "I asked." Stubble scratches her as he kisses across her back.

"No, I asked if you were going to ask me."

"Oh, you got me. It was your idea. But your ideas are good. Sometimes wrong, but always good."

A smile blossoms, rolling to look at him, "I'm serious House. Do you want this? Because it's ok if you don't."

"You have your lease for how long? Hell, keep this place if you like, I don't care. If you need space, that's fine, I respect that. But I want you around."

She smirks dryly, "You sure know how to sweet talk a girl."

Blue eyes flick away, embarrassment tingeing his words, "If you wanted somebody to say nice things you should have stayed with Chase." Discomfort radiates from him.

Her kiss awakens him from melancholy, their eyes shut as the moment lingers.

"I love you Greg. You can stop being an ass now." Her voice contains no malice, only amusement and his own brand of laconic wit.

Continuing, she snuggles under his chin, "Besides, why on earth wouldn't I want to live with the most handsome doctor in the world." He smiles, fingers sliding down her sweaty back.

"I always thought you must have a book of nice things to say, but you actually have them all memorized. It's very impressive."

"You ass."

Silence overtakes them both as Christmas Day ticks to a close. Outside, the sky is clear, swept clean by millions of industrious snowflakes. In the distance a whistle cries out, brilliant flash illuminating the darkness with red and purple stars. The points of light spiral, crackling and popping, before falling into the night.

* * *

Neither of them want the sleep to end. One day before work resumes and this pleasant respite is no more. The day needs more hours. She feeds him a vicodin, finger lingering on his lips as he sucks it, bitter pill forcing him to swallow. His tension ebbs, holding her, feeling her breath on his chest, skin squeezed tight beneath fingertips. She should move in, it's what they agreed. They should get up, but neither of them want that. Still dark outside, the kind of lazy darkness caused by the sun failing to show up for work, it lingers letting the night stretch on to the end of time.

Moving, House swings his legs out of bed, hoping she's not watching his graceless performance. The air is cool, he bumps the thermostat up before limping into the shower. Water on his wounded thigh is almost as therapeutic as her fingers and sweet words. Leaning back as he lazily washes himself, hands coursing through dripping wet hair, rubbing his stubble, she liked his stubble, didn't she? Ask. He wouldn't shave, but at least he'd know whether to feel guilty. The shower door opens, revealing her smiling in at him.

"Are you going to join me, or just let all the steam out?"

Grinning, she shuts the door. God-fucking-damnit. Nudging the door open with his foot to find her absent is unpleasant.

"Cameron! Get your ass in here!"

She bolts in, looking at him urgently, "What is it?"

"I said get your ass in here, not interrogate me from out there."

Eyebrow twitches upwards, unimpressed.

"Please."

"Only because you said please."

She steps in gingerly, careful of his leg. The door swings shut and she can't help but lean against him as their sweat is washed away from her, though their sins will stain her forever, but she doesn't mind that. She also doesn't mind his soapy hands roaming over her back, holding her close and cleansing her. Good behaviour should be encouraged. But not just yet, this feels too good to abandon in favour of carnal pleasure. Resting her cheek against his chest, a soft sigh escapes her lips, the torrential downpour of water searing soap away from her as he massages down her back.

"I take it from your slovenly behaviour that this is good?" He winces as she bites his nipple, kissing it better and nodding a little as she resumes melting against him. She's happy. That's all that matters. So fingers continue massaging down her body, covering sides and arms, unable to resist squeezing her ass. She just nuzzles closer in his arms, kissing across his chest tenderly, suddenly looking up at him, green eyes wide. He cannot resist looking back, her eyes a maelstrom of Charybdian intensity. Hands glide over his water-slicked skin, pulling him down into a warm kiss. When they surface, his eyelids flutter open as she grinds down his body.

"Uh, probably not such a great idea." She looks up through her eyelashes at him, fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking easily over his length.

"Why?" A teasing smile, her other hand is between her legs, when did she become so manipulative. He can only shudder as a tongue slides slowly from balls to tip.

Her grin is savage, "Don't you want this baby?" Baby? She is testing him. His limits.

"You know I do, I just don't know if I can…" Gesturing to his leg he looks back at her, kneeling so properly as water cascades over her breasts, splashing off the palm of her hand as she fingers herself. Oh fuck. She likes, loves, his reaction, the laboured breathing, as though he can somehow control what she does to him by breathing slowly. Fuck his leg.

Her lips wrap around his tip, tongue teasing him immediately, before ducking slowly down, water soaking her hair. The sounds he's making are encouraging to say the least, making her smile and bob a little faster. He tastes good, clean, needy, but in control. Fists are bunched at his sides, not in her hair being annoying. She hums softly as she licks over his head, feeling his pulse on her lips, watching him struggle to maintain composure before going back to driving him insane with her tongue.

"Cameron!" His voice is almost panicked.

Pulling back she smiles at him, "Yes?" Her fingers move a little faster, pressing at her g-spot, needing release. Not getting an answer, her tongue drags down the underside of his cock, letting her teeth scrape him as she ascends to take him into her mouth once more.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come." She grins, hand grasping him tightly and stroking as she flicks her tongue against the tip, sucking and moaning until his seed flows into her mouth. She leans back, letting him see his come in her mouth before she swallows it, hand gently jerking him until he grasps her wrist. She slinks up into the water, kissing his chest and holding him, her fingers rubbing his leg gently.

"Are you ok?" He nods, eyes shut, unable even to lie through his teeth. She presses closer, taking as much of his weight as she can, distracting him with kisses.

His eyes open, leg aching, "Cameron." Kissing him once more she ducks from the shower, his voice betraying his need, turning the water off before pressing the small bottle into his hand. He takes two.

"Sorry."

He stares at her, "What? You do that to me and you're sorry?" Her next apology is interrupted as he pushes past her angrily, storming into her bedroom. She follows, meek and a little scared until he turns, his erection still strong, his stare purely sexual.

"Get on the bed." Her body obeys before her mind has a chance to consider what he says, water vanishing into the sheets as she kneels, crawling up the bed. Hand on her back stops her, not daring to move, his overbearing nature controlling her completely. She can feel him move, pushing her into the middle of the bed, his vicodin bottle bouncing on the floor as he tosses it aside, he's right behind her, she closes her eyes. He is hot, searing flames wreathing his body, scorching her but making her so much needier. She dares to submit, going down onto her elbows, back arched, displaying herself as openly as she can.

"I like the view. But the attitude has to change." He moves, fast, she tenses just as his hand collides with her butt, a crack like a pistol shot booming through the room. It takes a second before she even feels it, the burning sensation slowly spreading down her left thigh from her ass. She needs more and gets it, his fingers sliding deep into her, a moan welcoming his forced entry. He spanks her again.

"Be quiet." Her body shivers, his forceful side leaving her aching, squeezing his fingers and shivering as he slams them into her hard and fast. He swaps hands, leaning forwards to push two fingers into her mouth, tasting herself on them, then sucking them clean. The fingers slip away from her tongue, she can hear him jerking off, even above the sound of his other hand fucking her. She wants to beg, for his cock, for release, for anything he wants her to ask for, but she mustn't talk, can't talk. Her scream is silent as she hits the edge unexpectedly, face dropping into the sheets, muffling any sound she would never make.

He grins, fingers teasing her down and slipping from her, only to slam his hips against her, sheathing his length inside her too-sensitive flesh.

"Touch yourself." Her hands immediately snap back between her legs, stroking her lips and clit, leaving her gasping for air face turned aside. Smiling, his hands grip her, fucking her quickly, their second climax approaching fast. She peaks first, shaking and tossing her wet hair as he pounds into her.

Slowing, he speaks, "Do you want me to come? Or are you sorry?"

Her body shivers under him, squeezing hard around with every stroke, her lips mouthing silent pleas. Taking that as assent, he lets himself go deep inside her, her hand cupping his balls. When the best is over he pulls back slowly, flopping down on the bed, exhausted, eyes shut. It takes him a second to realise she isn't with him, looking at her and watching as she fingers herself.

"You can stop."She wilts, slumping beside him, sweat and water rolling across her curves, breathing hard.

"Have anything to say now?"

Her voice is strong, "Thank you."


	14. Nighthawks

A thumping sounded throughout the apartment. Dark hair plastered across her face, angrily pushed aside, focusing. Sweat-soaked sports bra leaking moisture in rivulets down her spine, conforming completely to her contours. It hurts too much to keep going, god, this morning was insane. She slows down, face in her hands, stepping off the hulking treadmill. It mocks her, but enough is enough. Bathroom, aspirin, couch.

Flopping beside him, he eyes her.

"Heard of a shower?"

She nods, quipping tiredly, "Had one this morning. I enjoyed it a lot."

"So you're just going to sweat on me?"

"I don't think I can get up. You've ruined me." Her smile is infectious.

Clambering up out of the couch, he stands looking down at her, "You need a shower. Come on."

His help is mostly psychological (probably just as sore, too stubborn to admit it) but random acts of kindness are too rare to pass up. Standing, she leans against him, moving with him back into that bathroom. He flicks the dial around, lukewarm water drizzling down, watching as she strips. The blush that crosses her cheeks when she notices him watching makes them both smile even more, her hand reaching out to push him around. Graciously he stays turned, listening to her in the water, a goddess in the rain. Easing down, he sits, leaning against the wall beside the open shower door.

"Sore?"

She nods a little, then noticing his gentlemanly deportment, verbalises, "Yeah, a bit."

He hopes she doesn't see him grin, "Worth it?"

"Yes." Slipping down the wall to sit under the spraying nozzle, she reaches out to take his hand, watching a drop of water crawl down his palm, under wrist, before beading and dropping to plop on the floor.

They sit quietly, hands drifting apart as she stands once more, washing quickly and taking the offered towel from the tip of his cane. His eyes slide up her legs as she steps out, towel wrapped tight.

"Better."

* * *

A day of recovery, needed by all. Too many sins: lust, pride and now sloth. Lying in his bed, laughing at awful soap operas, their laughter interspersed by far too much kissing. Not needy, passionate teenaged kisses, neither of them needed that kind of affirmation anymore. He was convinced, certain for the first time in a long time, too long. Walls were crumbling as under the trumpets of Jericho, which were as fictional as the walls themselves. He felt they should be mourned, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Now wasn't the time to mourn, but celebrate.

Celebrate life. Celebrate a job. Celebrate a career. Celebrate a family. But why would he want to do a thing like that?

She nudged him, "He kissed her. Don't you want to play anymore?"

Lips find her neck, tenderly dancing up it, her laughter loud in his ear, "How do you put up with these shows? They're awful." Hubris!

He observes her from on high with the disdainful gaze of an angry god, brimming over with wrath, vengeful against all who do not prostrate before him.

"You live here now. If I kick you out, that makes you homeless. Do you want to be homeless?"

A smile, sweet and tart, "Oh no, I just couldn't handle that long drive back to my apartment."

Not a decisive victory, but he doesn't need one. Smart nod, he ducks down to kiss her once more, chameleon eyes reflecting his, an infinite recursion of souls. Besides, who is he kidding, tongue sliding over hers, arm slipping down to hook her closer. The kiss cools, their mingled atoms drifting apart. Peaceful seconds slip away, each instant between breaths a lifetime.

"Hungry?"

"Sure."

"Play for me?"

"Sure." She doesn't ask him to play often, keeping it as something special, sacred for them to share on the rare occasion when they're together and yet apart. She's never asked him not to do anything, to stop or change who he is. But some things, well, they weren't there because he liked them. They just made the dark gulf a little less empty. The solo existence of the blues man was one of those victims.

Her back slips away, blouse shimmering-lazurite with silken-intent as the light in the kitchen snaps on. Piano, go. Standing, pain stabbing upwards, he takes a lonely pill and limps slowly through to seat himself before the stately grand. The keys are cool, solemn beneath his fingers, the conductors masterful touch required, bringing them to attention, before the grief he has trouble feeling begins to rouse their emotions. Effortlessly, the notes trickled down from his sleeves, spilling across the now blue keys, mourning the loss of the old ways of the piano man. Ascending through the years, he senses her behind him, slipping effortlessly into Jersey Girl. The words are quiet, under his breath, her arms slipping around him, kissing his ear and listening in reverential silence. The second time he played it she felt obliged to remind him she wasn't from Jersey, a fact that he ignored conveniently.

She loved him for it.

* * *

Author's Note: Short, I know. Inspiration is agonisingly slow in coming at the moment, most disappointingly, and I don't want to devolve into pwp just yet (because that's not what attracts me to the characters). Hope you enjoy what has spilled forth.


	15. Hysteria

Jerked awake, fingers clutching at the duvet, her eyes stare around the room. Stealing from bed, she checks the bathroom, kitchen, eyeing the lounge suspiciously, before trying to supplant the cooling cavity her body left betwixt the sheets. Barely disturbing him, she feels tears well up, blinking hard, pushing them aside.

"You ok?" His gruff growl intrudes into her private world.

She nods, rolling away before he can see her cry, even as he moves to hold her, "Yeah, just needed a drink."

"Everybody lies." The words hang high in the air, if she wants them. Grasping, they slip away. Some secrets should stay.

"Sorry. Bad dream."

His arm squeezes her against him, lips on her neck, breath rolling down the inside of her t-shirt.

"If you wanna talk..." He leaves the choice open, hers.

"It's ok. Just a stupid bad dream." One day.

* * *

The delivery guy lingers restlessly as she digs through her purse.

"Hold on a second. House!" She smiles apologetically at the kid who gives her an impatient smile, rolling his eyes once her back is turned.

Poking his head around the door from the bedroom, hair less orderly than normal, he enquires as to how he might assist her.

"What?"

Her glance is exasperated, "Do you have any cash?"

He disappears, heaving the wallet around the corner, bouncing and tumbling its way to her feet. She plucks two bills out, handing them to the lanky kid who was gone before the door shuts.

"Do you have to throw things at me in front of other people?" Steaming Chinese, he'd better be hungry or she's going to end up fat. Nibbling a saucy bean, his voice startles her.

"Do you want me answering the door naked?" Her head spins, he's wearing boxers now, but still... Licking the thick sweet and sour goo off her fingers she slinks over to him, eyelashes fluttering.

"No. You're mine and I don't want to share." His eyebrow ascends as she kisses his chest, hands running all over.

"Normally I would encourage such selfish behaviour. But right now, I am rather hungry so-" She cuts him off, biting his nipple.

"I'm hungry too."

His eyes are glued to her, stumbling backwards before her hands until he can collapse on the bed. Prowling, she looks down at him, staring back with a stunned expression on his face, when will he learn. She drops down to kneel over him, kissing forcefully, her fingers in his hair, tight.

Hips press hard, thrusting, grinding, needy. Senses returning, he reaches for her jeans, her hand taking his wrist and dragging it away from her. When she lets him go, it moves straight back. The kiss breaks, and he opens his eyes as she slaps him across the face. His chin snaps round, left side burning as the imprint of her fingers appears red.

"Stop it. And shut up." He shuts his mouth fast.

She purrs, a minx once more, rolling off him and standing, swaying as her hands caress her tummy, unbuttoning and sliding the jeans down. Fingers slip into the front of her panties, looking over him.

"Take off your boxers." They're gone, he's hard, she slips down to kiss him, teasing a moment before sinking into his lap, eyes shut. His hands on her hips, fingertips swirling against her skin, she should tell him off, but it feels good. Instead she just grinds slowly, heat already building fast inside her.

Where did this come from? He can't stop himself watching her, rocking above him, driving him insane, the concentration on her face too intense. Pulling her into a kiss, she smiles, nuzzling against his side, the old Cameron.

"Love you." Kissing his ear she sits up moving faster on him, moaning quietly, her heat enveloping him over and over, her tensing muscles betraying her. He arches, hips holding her to him in the worlds laziest climax ever. She purrs, grinding her hips around on him, losing it when his fingers brush over her clit.

Panting, she rubs his chest, fingernails scratching garden paths through rough hair tree trunks. Standing, her underwear and jeans fall back onto her and she walks out. His eyes follow her, but his body does not, jeans down around his knees.

"Foods getting cold." Her voice floats in accompanied by the sound of bowls being filled. His mind screams at him. What the hell.

"Uh, coming." He pops a vicodin, quieting the discomfort and the voices, then follows her, pulling his jeans up as he goes.

* * *

"House! Why are you telling me this? Are you trying to make me throw up?" Wilson was appalled, not that that was anything to talk about.

"Come on, I know how easy saying 'cancer' is, but I have a hunch it isn't that. Work with me." Pacing the room, lab coat flipping as he stalks.

"Have you asked her? No. No! Get out!" A fountain pen clattered off the window half a meter behind him. House looked pityingly at his exasperated friend.

"You throw like a girl. Help me!"

"I don't know why she acted like that! House! I talk to her all the time, I don't want to think about her," his eyes bulged, flicking around wildly, unable to vocalise his abject horror, "mounting you! Oh god!"

"Stop being so dramatic. You're worse than she is."

The balcony door clicked as it closed. Wilson was gone. House limped over to it, looking out to see his office door shutting. On the plus side, car keys were still here. Pocketing them, he went back to prowling the halls.

* * *

She had another box of things when she got home.

"Just some clothes." Nodding approval, he returns to watching tv, awaiting her return. Just as planned, a few minutes later, she sinks into the couch beside him. He eyes her.

"Everything ok?"

"Not really." He hides his surprise poorly until she sucks his lip into her mouth, kissing tenderly.

"That's better." Walked into that one, old man.

"So everything is ok?"

"Of course."

"Ok."

Why wouldn't she open up. What was he doing wrong. Push more? Hadn't worked so well last time. She'd cried. That's not an option. His gaze lingered.

"Greg?"

Did she say something? "Hmmm?"

"Why do you keep asking if I'm ok?"

Shit, "You're being weird. When did you last sleep for eight straight hours?" She's already frowning, face it, this is going to be bad.

"I don't know. They're just bad dreams. I'm fine." Her hand is in his, squeezing.

"Increased appetite, sex drive, not that I'm complaining, bad dreams. Get checked out?"

She was frightening when she was quiet, just watching him.

"Ok."

Wait, what. "Ok?"

Her look is puzzled, "Sure. I assume when it comes back fine you'll stop bothering me, so wouldn't it be easier for me to agree?"

Blink blink. "I guess it would."

"Well ok then. Now can we watch some TV? I'm exhausted."

* * *

Doing her own labs made things just that much quicker. Physically, she was fine. She'd put on weight, but that was no accident, despite all her efforts House ate junk food at every opportunity. She tried to avoid it, but blamed the trickle-down effect. He ate it, but she put on the weight. Bastard, she smiled to herself, running another slide. Not pregnant, thank god. It was bad enough trying to work out how she would feel about that, let alone have to deal with his madness over the subject.

She'd run everything she could think of. Nothing. Was it just in her mind? What she needed to do was talk to Wilson, but he'd been avoiding her. House must have said something. Is he jealous she eats lunch with Wilson sometimes? Sounds just like him. The centrifuge rattled as it stopped, tearing her daydream apart. Removing all her samples, she dropped them into the biohazard bin, wandering to the elevator. Hopefully House was still in his office.

Kutner was waiting when the doors opened, he nodded and she smiled, stepping out.

"If you're looking for House, he's in his office."

"Thanks." The doors shut between them. How did Kutner manage to put up with House' crap so easily. Slightly dreading what was to come, she entered the lion's den, smiling a little weakly.

"Pregnant or dying?"

"House!"

"Did I say that out loud? Whoops. You're not sick."

Her eyes interrogated him, "And you know this how?"

Snicker, "Because we're talking about it here. Either it was nothing, or it wasn't serious. That and you haven't started crying yet."

"Oh you're a regular Dr. Phil. Stop being an ass, we need to talk."

Patting his desk, he pushed back a little, "Sit." She moved to perch on the edge, watching him.

"It's about my brother." She looked down, couldn't look. His chair rolled close, until her knees are between his.

"Cameron, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. And we don't have to talk about it here."

Her head shakes, tears welling in her eyes, "No, it's ok. It's nothing new, it's just... you should know. He died. Before I graduated." His hands are on hers, reassuring, she needs it, tears starting to flow.

"I really loved him. His place caught fire. They think he fell asleep smoking, and he died. I love you like I loved him," her eyes flicked to his, expecting a joke, but finding only deep sorrow.

"My dreams. I'm coming home, to your place I mean, but when I get to the door there's smoke, everywhere. And I can never find you and it's so scary because I don't want to lose you because everybody else I've ever loved has died or left me." She's babbling, his arms closing around her and sliding her to sit on his good knee.

"Hey, shush. I'm not going anywhere." Normally he's not good with this kind of emotion, but this seems so simple. He just kisses her hair, holding her tight until the tears dry up, glaring hard at Foreman over her shoulder when he nearly walks in on them.

She moves in his arms, red eyes looking up at him, kissing his chin, "Sorry."

Pushing her head back in against him, he murmurs, "I thought I'd taught you not to say that." That gets a little giggle.

"I'm not going anywhere. Certainly not fast anyway. Besides, I can't die until you explain that thing about loving your brother. Incest!" She laughs, hitting him, but smiling.

"Bastard. You can't be serious for five minutes. That's why I didn't tell you in the first place." She cuddles back in against him, her voice growing small.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I love you."

He rubs her back with one hand kindly. "I know. Wanna go home?"

She nods a little, it's past eight, more than time for them to go.

* * *

Collapsing into bed is the best thing she's done all day. She listens to him showering, the room dark, shadows flitting across the walls as somebody drives past. His pillow gets hugged, body curling close, feeling almost at ease. But his side of the bed is unnaturally empty. It scared her how much she needed him there, already. Then again, they'd known each other for years, so maybe this isn't so weird. Oh who cares. The shower died, her smile growing, the pillow was nice, but he was ten times better.

It was dark when he finally stepped into the bedroom, instantly quieting his movements, waiting for his eyes to adjust before edging across the floor. As vicodin soothed his body and soul, he eased in against her, already asleep, holding his pillow. Lifting her arm, he slid the poor thing away from her, smothering it beneath him. His fingers pressed gently to her throat, pulse steady, slow, stroking down her porcelain skin as he pulled back. Her arm slides out over him, leaning closer. An invitation he could not refuse, moving over until they are close, two lovers intertwined. Their minds drift, mingling, dreams of strange shapes, ancient ideas, unspeakable horrors, all banished from their Elysian paradise.

* * *

Author's Note: Happy New Year all. Chapter dedicated to Tsukihysteria as thanks for the amazing video, to be found on the H/C LJ community.


	16. Filter

Taking a day off was boring when he had to work. Jog, shower, breakfast, clean, moving a little more of her stuff into his place, poke around (she was picking up more of his bad habits), read, get bored. Now she found herself driving to work, parking, wandering up to his office.

Nobody home, case files strewn haphazardly on every flat surface. All dull, boring, why did he have them all over the place. She gave up, he'd been wearing his lab coat again and her influence over him only extended so far. Gathering up the folders, she sat them on the couch, leafing through them in the hopes of identifying the source of his madness. There had to be a connection, didn't there?

* * *

When she woke up he was looking down at her.

"What's up, sleeping beauty?" That won him a smile, pushing the file off her lap and standing to hug him.

"Nothing at all. That's why I'm here. What are you doing with these?" Pulling away to indicate the files didn't work so well when he didn't let her go, but it made her smile more, cuddling in close.

"If I told you that you might give the game away and daddy needs a new pair of shoes."

Rolling her eyes, "I don't want to know. If you don't tell me I won't be lying when Cuddy asks what's going on."

"Such wisdom in one so young. I have trained you well."

"Give me some credit. I have learnt a few things since I stopped playing doctors and nurses with you."

"I'm sure. But your street-smart, savvy 'tude? That's all me." He twirls his cane, cocky when she's in his arms, because she's in his arms.

"Shut up, Greg. Give the files back to whoever you stole them from." She slips from his arms, sitting down and looking up at him, head cocked to the side, "I'll wait."

Their eyes clash, his questioning, hers challenging, delving through the subtext, testing resolve. She does not falter, handing the case files to him.

"I'm not seeing why I should do this yet?"

Raising her eyebrow, she lets her gaze slide down his body, "You think I can't make it worth your while?"

Smirk, "That's hardly fair."

"Life isn't fair, but it can be very fun. Why the coat?"

His irritation at her game of twenty questions starts to grow, "I'm supposed to wear the coat. Is that not enough?"

"Fine, play hard to get." She reaches out, wrapping her hand around his cane, standing, "But you know that I always get what I want."

Stepping closer, his hand slides up her back, slender arms circling him beneath the coat. She sighs softly as he traces up her spine, into her hair, gasping as his grip suddenly tightens. Middle of the day, people around, what is he doing, anybody could see them.

"House," her voice is choked, unable to choose, fear or lust, "What are you doing?"

Fist clenching, her hair pulled tighter, it hurts. If they weren't here... He's staring at her.

"What do you want?" His voice stings, rough and sharp, cutting through their games. He fills her view, her world, she snaps, unable to bear anything more.

"You."

Lips curl, mocking, relaxing his fist and pressing his lips to hers. She clings to him, tension broken, slipping her tongue into his mouth, until she remembers where they are. Backing away, calves bumping the couch, cheeks flushed.

"So I'll see you later?"

He shrugs, "Stick around if you want."

"No. I'd like too, but..." Her eyes look away and he lets her leave. She's far too professional to do anything at work. Well, anything too bad at work. At least not in an office with glass walls. Hell, she'd probably do anything he asked her to. Besides, he has charts to return.

* * *

He's home early, the lights are dim. Asleep on the couch with a book, he can't help watching her breathe, she's beautiful. His bag droops, dropping silently onto the floor, sitting beside her, she sleeps on. Slipping the paperback from her lap, he pulls her closer, causing a stir. Eyes flutter open, blinking, smiling as he lays her head down in his lap.

"Get bored waiting up for me?" A little nod, her hand slinking up to stroke his leg.

"Have fun playing your game?"

"Of course, otherwise it wouldn't be a very good game now, would it?" His fingers start to trail across her face, through her hair, teasing it out carefully. It feels good.

She's falling asleep again. Bed is only a few meters away, but he doesn't want to move at all. His leg will kill him if he sleeps here, thank god for vicodin. Her expression is angelic, hair spread out in a dark halo. What does she see in him that makes this possible. Wilson would say that she's good for him and to be thankful. He is thankful. How long will it last though? She's happy now, it's only been a few weeks, but what about in a few months, years. Will she still love him.

Shifting, her body curls, forehead pressing in against his stomach. His arm moves to her side, protective. Whatever the answer, it would be a journey they would share and for the first time in too long he felt prepared to take the first steps.

Thrusting from his mind such thoughts, he felt consciousness slip away with each brush of his fingers down her spine. She'd be there here when he woke and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading all. For now, I'm going to say that this little tale is concluded. While all your wonderful reviews and encouragement have kept me writing over the past few days, I've become more and more disenchanted with so many aspects of this story that I think it is time to put it to rest, at least for now. It's been an amazing experience in writing a very different kind of fiction, one that I will apply to future stories (which does mean that there will be future stories). With any luck, we will meet again soon.


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